Seventhe
by Amaranth the Immortal
Summary: Merrin is faning the Darkenesse left over from the Darke Week into a deadly flame. Septimus must face his new enemy: himself from an alternate reality where he became DomDaniel's apprentice, all while he tries to unlock the full power of the seventh son.
1. Transfusion

**Bonjour, mes amis! This is my first Septimus fanfiction, so I'm feeling really excited right now! Though, I'm sure I'd feel even happier if I wasn't so ill... But meh, that's life. I've been working on the outline for this since the beginning of June, finishing the editing completely in September, so I figured it's high time I kicked my butt into gear and finally wrote it. I have two plot lines worked out, one pretty long and one shorter. I'll choose between the two as I go, but remember, it's up to everyone here to decide for me completely. You are the readers, after all... So, I hope you all enjoy! :) If there are any errors, please tell me; I'd like to make this as accurate as it can be. And this takes place after Darke if you didn't know.**

**This story's also Sep and Marcia centered. No romance; it just focuses on their relationship as characters. I hope nobody minds. I just find Marcia so facinating... **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Septimus Heap. That privilege belongs solely to the wonderful Angie Sage. I'm just playing around with her toys in her Magykal sandbox.**

**Happy birthday, Septimus! (and Jenna, too, of course)**

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><p>Bright spring sunlight, its first appearance so far that year, shone down on the still frosted Castle around midday. It melted the millions of minute glittering crystals coating shop signs and motionless flags, left over from the now passing winter. Damp walkways revealed remnants of the presence of snow that only the previous night had been heaped up on street corners. With relieved smiles, everyone packed away their winter garments and unearthed their spring ones at the sight of the blazing sun. Gardening tools were gathered with light hearts, perhaps not to be used that day, for all were still wary of a recurrence of that deep chill, but in hopes of colorful blossoms soon to come. It was a fresh beginning, and everyone went off to accomplish their daily tasks with a smile and more than one laugh.<p>

Maybe it could even be a sign that the lingering traces of **Darkenesse **from the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice's **Darke Week** were soon to disappear. All of the Castle Safety Committees had been hounding the ExtraOrdinary Wizard about what she was doing to counter the leftover **Darke Magyk**, but had unfortunately come up empty; their ExtraOrdinary, when asked a direct question about it, always gave a vague answer. It caused many people to be more than a bit uneasy with the unwanted ignorance and made them close their shutters and bolt their doors with more vigor than usual. They had every intention of continuing to do so until peace could reign once again in their hearts.

But such was the wonderful effect of spring. With a bounce in their step and a smile on their face, the Castle inhabitants went about their lives with fresh hope. Madam Overstrand would find an answer, no doubt. Even if most people avoided her in fear of provoking her temper, no one could deny she had a brilliant mind, especially when they saw the Wizard Tower that sunny day.

The tower was a tall, proud spire rising up from the cluttered and hectic streets and alleys surrounding it. White and pristine, it reflected the spring light within the stone and made it shine with a magnificent sheen. On warm days like this one, the purple haze surrounding it made the edges of the tower shimmer as though it was a massive mirage, leaving people with dazed smiles and eyes aching from the glare. And it was this purple shimmer that drew onlookers' attention. It was deeper than usual, particularly so at the top of the tower, around the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's rooms. Deep, serious **Magyk **was being performed up there.

Everyone's smile grew wider. Yes, their ExtraOrdinary Wizard would work out the dilemma with the **Darke Magyk **with no trouble at all. The Castle was in good hands.

Marcia, however, was not currently working on the Castle's latest problem. Instead, the cause of the deep purple haze around the Wizard Tower was her Apprentice's training. Keeping him inside when the spring sun steadily beckoned him was a challenge, but Marcia, as usual, got what she wanted, much to Septimus's dismay.

The light teasingly peeked in through a small window high up on the wall of a virtually empty room. The room branched off from Marcia's sitting room through a small inconspicuous door that she made an effort to conceal through her furniture layout. She most certainly didn't want any of her guests venturing into the bare practice room, meant solely for learning dangerous spells, thinking it was a bathroom or something. It was always awkward to explain why it wasn't decorated.

The stone walls were enchanted with strong defensive **Magyk** to keep any wayward spells from wreaking havoc through the rest of the Tower. There was a single wooden table against a wall, nestled beneath the only window, and an uncomfortable chair that lacked, much to an occupant's dismay, a cushion to ease the pain. That was why Marcia stood off to the side, quietly studying her Apprentice as he worked on their latest **Magykal **topic.

"Try again," Marcia encouraged when Septimus's spell fizzled out again. "This kind of **Magyk** is extremely difficult. Both Alther and I had problems with it."

Septimus cast a doubtful glance in her direction, but diligently took a deep breath and focused once more.

For this lesson, Marcia and Septimus agreed on a topic that filled even skilled Wizards like Marcia with a bit of apprehension. They were instilling **Magykal **properties into regular objects. It wasn't the simple kinds of enchantments that Marcia was already proficient with, such as adding working feet to a table or free thinking arms to a coat rack. It wasn't turning a piece of toast or a pebble into a **Charm**, either. It was sticking a spell, which already had its own **Charm**, into another object so that it kept all of the spell's abilities without the need for reciting the incantation. It was a complicated branch of **Magyk **called **Transfusion**.

It was a grueling business. Most of the time, the spells would struggle; they already had a home, so why were they being forced into another one at the same time? It required the upmost concentration and an advanced command of **Magyk** for a Wizard to perform it correctly. Even Marcia, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, came across bumps in her own performance, and these complications were so frequent that she, along with every other Wizard, tended to keep her distance from it.

Marcia had every hope for Septimus, though. His **Magykal **skill was already so great that he'd broken through the preconceived limits of some **Magyk **already, such as with his substantial **Projections**, even though he'd only just barely reached the halfway point in his Apprenticeship.

Marcia focused her attention once more on her Apprentice as he tried to merge an elementary level **Fyre** spell, which he could probably cast in his sleep, into a spoon from the kitchen. His green eyes were flashing from the high level **Magyk**, and a deep purple haze even started to shimmer around him. That, in addition to the soupy quality of the air, gave Marcia a shock as even she felt affected by his abilities. The fine hairs on the back of her neck tingled, and the stray sparks of **Magykal** energy jumping around her cloak made her give a delighted shiver. She watched with rapt attention as he seemed to revel in the deepening purple glimmer. Where most Wizards would grow tired from working with so much power, Septimus appeared to grow more at ease.

'This must be one of the gifts of the seventh of the seventh,' Marcia mused. Even she was impressed by his display. Only on rare occasions did she ever have her Apprentice use **Magyk **that was complex enough to create a misty aura, and so she took advantage of the opportunity by watching his performance with an approving, sharp eye.

A wide smile broke out on her face as a bright orange flame burst to life in front of him. Brow furrowed in concentration, he directed the **Fyre **towards the spoon. Perhaps giving him a metal object wasn't the best idea for his first **Transfusion **seeing as it would take forever to get the melted silver out of the wooden table (not that she particularly cared for the hideous old rickety thing), but Marcia wanted to see if he had the ability to complete it without letting the spell harm the object. She heard him take a deep breath before mentally coaxing the fire into the spoon. It gave its characteristic struggle, but gave way to Septimus's commands easier than Marcia expected. Two fascinated pairs of brilliant green eyes watched with rapt attention as the fire slid smoothly into the spoon.

Septimus let out a deep, exhausted breath and let his shoulders slump. Marcia strolled over to the spoon and gingerly picked it up. It was cool to the touch.

"Well done, Septimus," she said, passing him the spoon. He hesitantly took it and gazed at it confusedly.

"So, now what do I do with it?" he asked. Marcia took it back and pointed the end of it at the lone candle on the windowsill. A small burst of flame jumped from the spoon over to the wick, and it lighted harmlessly.

"Picture in your head what you want the spell to do, and it will do so, provided the conditions are right."

"What conditions?"

"If you could do the spell normally, then it will work with this, too," Marcia elaborated.

Septimus gazed at the innocent little spoon, intrigued with the concept of a spell's power actually existing within its rounded metal.

"Now," continued Marcia, clasping her hands loudly, "I want you to spend the next couple of hours up in your room, studying. In the meantime, I must go to another dreadful meeting with the Safety Committees."

Septimus sighed, but he didn't complain, as usual. Though he desperately wanted to get out into the sunlight, Marcia always knew best in anything related to his **Magyk** lessons. If she said to keep going, then he would force a smile and do so.

Truthfully, he wanted to get in all the **Transfusion** practice he could. Marcia's birthday was coming up in a few months, and until a week ago, he hadn't the faintest idea what to get her. Her birthday always crept up on him ridiculously fast, so he'd learned his lesson and thought through her present in advance. Flowers from the Palace garden were pathetic, especially when they still had dirt dangling from the stems. It also gave him both a disappointed Marcia and an irritated Sarah. It was worth it if he put thought into it and actually produced something he knew his tutor would like.

Early the previous week, Septimus and Marcia spent a few hours in the Pyramid Library prepping him for his **Transfusion** lesson, which they agreed would be the next object they'd tackle in his education. Like with his **Darke Week**, sometimes it was best to just get the difficult stuff over with. They'd been pouring over dusty old volumes, most not even opened since Marcia had been Alther's Apprentice and was studying for the test herself. Septimus was reading through a very thick tome with the tiniest print possible when he heard Marcia heave a disappointed sigh.

"What's wrong?" he'd asked, turning gratefully away from the old book. She had been browsing through a much used old spell book, looking for a simple one they could use in their **Transfusion** exercises. She strode over to the table and placed the book in front of Septimus. She pointed to a page that had a very long incantation for a spell that was extremely effective at warding off the **Darke**. It had an empty **Charm **pocket.

"It's just a pity that there are no **Charms** left, that's all. It would be most helpful right now."

"Yeah, it would be," he agreed, turning his head to peer out of the nearby purple window. The Castle appeared picturesque in the dim winter sunlight with the weak rays glinting off of the numerous buildings, some decaying and others pristine, and glared in the reflections from the glass windows. To anyone, all would appear to be perfect, but to a trained eye like Septimus's or Marcia's, there was a murky quality to the air that most certainly wasn't from the excess fumes swirling out of the food shops below. It was **Magykal**, malevolent, and set Septimus and Marcia on edge.

As they both gazed pensively out the window, Septimus was struck with a brilliant idea. If he was lucky, perhaps the Trader's Market would have one of those **Charms** Marcia wanted when it opened in a few days. The event always brought the most exotic objects the world had to offer, so a rare** Charm** wasn't quite so rare to come by. And maybe, what with him learning about **Transfusion**, he could transfer the spell into a convenient object for Marcia, seeing as the spell's incantation was long and complex. To be suddenly struck with such an idea put a smile on Septimus's face for the rest of the study session, thoroughly confusing Marcia, who knew of Septimus's not-so-secret desire to be out with his friends that day.

So, that was how it came to be a week later, with Septimus practicing his **Transfusion** in the tiny, dismal practice room. Under Marcia's watchful and helpful eye, he'd had many small successes that day after she returned from her committee meeting, but was nowhere near skilled enough to transfuse the complicated spell into something, hopefully, crafted well enough to contain it seeing as a kitchen spoon wouldn't be up to the challenge.

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to master that branch of **Magyk** in time at Marcia's rate, Septimus started pouring over any text he could find on the subject in the Pyramid Library that night. This continued for several days, until Marcia was finally overcome with suspicion.

"Just what do you think you're doing up here _again_, Septimus?" she demanded one afternoon. She'd just stormed up from her office, put on edge by the eerie silence blanketing her rooms which was usually filled with the sounds of Septimus tinkering with something, and now confronted her Apprentice, who had been sitting on the floor of the library, practically hidden behind towers of yellowed books. He looked up when she came in, his emerald eyes startled and his hair twisted around in tight curls, which he always did when he was deeply concentrating. Pleased to see that he was absorbed in old **Transfusion** books, Marcia was partly saddened to be tearing him away from them, but was still too overcome with curiosity to feel _truly _guilty.

"I'm just studying," he replied innocently as she strolled over. She picked up one of the heavy tomes, realizing it was an extremely advanced **Transfusion** book. Even she had not attempted to go this deeply into the subject. If Septimus was expecting her exam to be this complicated, perhaps she'd better straighten this out before she embarrassed herself with her own ineptitude at the subject. She knew what was required of an ExtraOrdinary Wizard to know about **Transfusion**, no more and no less.

"Um, Septimus," she began hesitantly, "you know you only need to study the textbooks I've provided you with, right? There's no need to learn so much about it."

He looked crestfallen. "Well, I _want_ to learn more. It's so complicated, like a whole new area of **Magyk **I'd never even touched before. I'd like to discover more of it."

Marcia was moved by his ambition. She remembered being just like that when she was Alther's Apprentice. This branch of studying never intrigued her very much, but she could recall burying herself in further study of other kinds of **Magyk**, like **Transfiguration** and **Magykal Theory**.

"That's all very well, Septimus," she replied. "But are you sure this is a subject you'd like to advance in? Everyone else, including myself, finds it tedious, though definitely necessary to a **Magykal** education. Besides, weren't you interested in **Arcane Magyk** and the **Artes of Fortification**?"

Septimus nodded. "I still am. But, you see, I don't like that I'm not that good at **Transfusion**. Just being proficient with it doesn't make me feel very secure. I mean what if I desperately need it in a tight situation, and I'm not able to do it? I'd rather make sure I understand all I can about it now, rather than wait for it to be too late."

"I hope you're not planning another one of your life threatening adventures, Septimus," she warned, narrowing her eyes. "You certainly sound like you're predicting some upcoming danger."

"No, not at all," he replied quickly, his eyes widening with alarm. "I just want to be my best at it." And while that may be true, Septimus's main objective still involved Marcia's present.

Marcia held her frown for a few seconds before breaking into a wide smile. "Alright, Septimus, I have no objections to your studying; I admire your determination. Just don't let it distract you from your other studies. I still need all of your attention with current topics after this exam."

"Okay," Septimus smiled. "I promise."

"Good," she nodded, turning to glide back down to her rooms below. Septimus was left alone in the library, lighting a lone candle when dusk drew in. It wasn't until Marcia called him down to supper that he extracted himself from the old volumes, and coughed out the dust that had settled in his mouth. He quickly replaced the books on their shaky shelves, but kept a few open on the floor; he'd take them down to his room later.

He snatched up his candle and made the trek downstairs. He'd advanced so deeply into the books that even if Marcia looked at the text, it would all appear as incomprehensible as an alien tongue. In fact, the words weren't even recognizable as Septimus's native language anymore.

Yet, it still wasn't enough for him.

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><p><strong>*yawn* I feel so sickly. Plus, I have swimming tomorrow in the disgusting pool. And who decided it would be a good idea to have swimming class when it's so ridiculously cold out, anyway? I also have a Chemistry test, too. Meh, I give up; I'm gonna go to bed... Well, anywhozit, this chapter's sort of a prologue in a way. (the chapter seemed longer in Microsoft Word...) The Transfusion will come into play later, but as of right now, this is just me adjusting to the characters. The plot starts unfurling next chapter. Expect an update within a few days, dear readers. I hope you liked it!<strong>

**And I also feel like mentioning that this is my comfort story, like chocolate ice cream or something. It's fun to write, while my other stories are a bit more challenging. Sure, this one has a serious tone, but it's been really easy working everything out. With that said, I'd say expect quick updates for this one while I slowly and methodically work through my other fics. Just a fair warning...**

**And happy birthday again, Sep! I'd sing for everyone here, but your ears would bleed and implode, which I'm told is extremely painful. Really.**


	2. Cutpurse Cut

**Hello, again! Thank you to all of my reviewers and readers; I love all of you for your feedback, except perhaps my good friend Merete, who left the most crack filled review I've ever gotten. Congrats, I hope your parents are proud, you antipodean fleck of bumfluff~**

**Anyway, I hope everyone's having a lovely holiday season. (Season's Greetings, I guess) I would have updated earlier today, or even yesterday, but I was busy with Skyward Sword. My goodness, that game's time consuming... But I did work on this chapter yesterday and today, or I'm not a complete bum (like Merete). And even though I guessed the title of the seventh Septimus Heap book beforehand, I've just been so excited ever since it was announced. Now, all I have to do is get this whole fic finished before the official seventh book comes out in 2012. Great...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Septimus Heap and his gang of misfits. If I did, Marcia would be in and/or mentioned in every chapter. I always love it when she'd around. It'd be great if she was in the spotlight with Sep and Jen in Fyre... But even if she isn't, I know my mind with still be blown, regardless.**

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><p>"<em>Good," she nodded, turning to glide back down to her rooms below. Septimus was left alone in the library, lighting a lone candle when dusk drew in. It wasn't until Marcia called him down to supper that he extracted himself from the old volumes, and coughed out the dust that had settled in his mouth. He quickly replaced the books on their shaky shelves, but kept a few open on the floor; he'd take them down to his room later. <em>

_He snatched up his candle and made the trek downstairs. He'd advanced so deeply into the books that even if Marcia looked at the text, it would all appear as incomprehensible as an alien tongue. In fact, the words weren't even recognizable as Septimus's native language anymore._

_Yet, it still wasn't enough for him._

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><p>Early the next morning at breakfast, Septimus was rattling off all sorts of complex ideas and conceptions of <strong>Transfusion<strong> that he'd learned the previous night. Marcia sat across the table from him, listening dubiously to his monologue while munching on a piece of toast and wondering how much of this he understood; even she could only follow about half of what he was saying. But when she asked him a question or requested that he elaborate, he did so without hesitation.

"I'm impressed, Septimus," she admitted, when he paused to catch his breath and swallow a mouthful of orange juice. "I would have expected I'd be used to this level of skill from you by now, yet I'm still always surprised." Septimus's face heated up beneath his Marcia's praise, which was always a pleasant gift from her. He would probably forever remain modest. "This, however, is certainly a great accomplishment. You seem to really understand the subject, perhaps even more than those authors you're learning so much from."

"I don't think I'm that good, Marcia," said Septimus, still blushing.

"Well, you understand enough of it," she answered, smiling with pride at her Apprentice. "Have you tried to do any of the advanced **Transfusions** you've learned so much about?"

"No, I haven't yet. That was what I wanted to talk to you about." Septimus took a deep breath and paused again to inhale a spoonful of porridge. "Where do you think I should practice? As I work with it, I'd like to **Transfuse **with more complex spells. I'd rather not do it in the practice room until I'm better at it; you wouldn't be happy if I fiddled with really dangerous spells so close to your sitting room."

"No, I definitely wouldn't," she replied, giving him a warning glare just in case. "The practice courtyard should be suitable, though. Granted, it's typically used for other kinds of **Magyk**, but I think this should be something you practice out of doors for now, regardless of tradition. I'll write out a permission slip for you this afternoon."

Septimus smiled. "Thanks, Marcia."

She returned his smile before sipping her coffee and snapping at the stove when it let out a sudden burst of black smoke, leaving both of them coughing for a few moments. Marcia decided to change the subject.

"Now, Septimus, I'd like for you to run some of my errands for me today."

"Sure. But what are you doing to be doing instead?" he inquired, just the slightest bit disappointed. He'd been anticipating yet another day with the **Transfusion **books.

"I'm going to be spending the next few days looking up metals that can hold **Magyk** and be an effective replacement crown for Jenna. I've inspected the True Crown and, while it may still be powerful, there is too much of Etheldredda's negative energy left in its edges for it to be safe for her to wear, at least for now. I will have to make her a new crown. I'll enchant it, perhaps with your assistance, if you'll be so kind to offer it?"

"Of course, but shouldn't you just ask Marcellus? He knows everything about metals."

"But nothing about **Magyk**," Marcia said. "You, on the other hand, have experience with both **Magyk** and Alchemie, so I'd like to consult you instead." She barely suppressed her shudder of disapproval. While she may have allowed **Physik** back into the Castle, the Alchemie branch was a whole other area entirely.

"I do know a bit," Septimus admitted, "but Marcellus is the master. He'll be infinitely more helpful to you than I can be."

"That's where you're wrong, Septimus. I can't stand that man for more than a few minutes at a time. Being buried inside the Manuscriptorium with him would be as bad as if I was with Jillie Djinn, and you know how much I despised that woman." She sighed, hoping Jillie's ghost didn't hear her from out in the sitting room. "Besides, Mr. Pye is busy with that ex-ExtraOrdinary Apprentice you've brought back with you, the one that just woke up a month or two ago. She's apparently been helping him down in the old AlchemieChamber."

"Syrah's down there with him?" Septimus asked, slightly stunned. "Why?"

"I haven't the faintest idea." Marcia sniffed. "One would think that Julius Pike would have taught his Apprentice to keep closer to **Magyk** rather than **Physik** and Alchemie." She ignored Septimus's dry stare.

Septimus hadn't had much contact with Syrah once she'd reawakened. He pursued her for a time, keeping his feelings hidden from Marcia, Jenna, and Sarah since they would have given it unnecessary attention. He made sure his interest in Syrah was clear for her to see, but she never responded. Even Septimus wasn't able to keep up his efforts when the object of his affection was so passive about it. Eventually, over the next month after she woke up, her disinterest spread to Septimus. While he still cared for her and wished for her continued safety and happiness, the romantic feelings he'd harbored had died down to dim embers. Septimus was somewhat relieved with the disappearance of his crush. Now, he could focus on **Magyk** which pleased both him and his tutor very much. Starting a relationship would lead to some much stressed involved parties.

"So, when do you want to head down the Manuscriptorium?" he inquired as he finished his last bite of porridge.

Marcia gulped down the last of her coffee and replied, "I'd like to right now."

Septimus gave a small smile. "Well, alright, then. What errands do you want me to run today for you?"

"Complete your usual morning chores, if you please," she replied, standing up from her chair and making her way to the front door. Septimus followed silently. "It's best to get them out of the way. Then, I want you to head down to Cutpurse Cut and inspect the rapidly decaying building everyone's been panicking about. More of it erodes every day, and it's becoming a hazard to passerby, which the Safety Committees have been making a point of emphasizing to me." She stopped fastening her new spring cloak and fixed Septimus with a serious stare. "I have suspicions that this is caused by powerful **Darke Magyk**. I'll need you to clean it out, thoroughly and completely mind you. Do you think you can handle this? I'd do it myself, but I'd prefer to get a head start with Jenna's crown. I know it will be a tedious project, and the longer she goes without proper protection, the more danger she will be in, what with the Other Side lurking around."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," he replied quickly. "Helping Jenna is the most important thing."

Marcia smiled gently at him. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. I know you'll do well."

And with that, she swept out the door and onto the spiral stairs. Septimus slowly followed and stopped in the doorway. He gave her a brief wave of farewell as she loudly commanded the stairs. Immediately, she whizzed out of sight, leaving only the purple blur of her cloak billowing out behind her. Her Apprentice slowly turned and made his way up to the Pyramid Library for his routine tidying up. The large purple door closed softly behind him.

An hour later, Septimus was strolling down Wizard Way with Cutpurse Cut as his destination. Leaving a clean library and a very pleased Ordinary Apprentice, who Septimus saved in passing from a spell that was about to go horribly wrong, behind him, Septimus's mind was crystal clear as his green ExtraOrdinary Apprentice robes absorbed what little warmth they could from the dim sunlight filtering through the dreary clouds. An overcast sky suspended above the Castle from horizon to horizon. Bravely planted flowers, flourishing in the window boxes high up on the large buildings towering around him, were patiently awaiting the spring shower the sky was promising them. Septimus saw the windows of the Manuscriptorium, crowded with books that obscured the view, and wondered how Marcia was doing, buried within its depths in the Vaults. The Palace rested much further ahead, storm candles blazing in every window in preparation for whatever nature was planning, be it severe or just a light drizzle.

Septimus quickly turned off Wizard Way, weaving through the stream of people. He reached the safety of the side streets and purposely set off for the shady Cutpurse Cut. It was a seedy street, filled with suspicious characters and shifty trades. Most Castle inhabitants tended to keep their distance, not only to keep safe but also to not get any of the strange slime that coated some of the darker corners on their shoes.

'That was,' Septimus thought, 'probably the main reason why Marcia wanted me to go, instead.'

Recently, the mysteriously disintegrating building had been attracting more visitors than Cutpurse Cut was used to, and so the criminals stalking its cobblestones were gleefully taking advantage of the increase in victims as best they could. It was best to fix the problem soon, just to prevent further accidents. Common sense was typically abandoned when there was a spectacle to be seen.

Septimus pulled the hood of his green woolen cloak up over his head. A light drizzle had started up, making the stones beneath his feet slightly slippery. The slick cobbles, as well as the sight of Cutpurse Cut as he turned onto it, sent a pang of foreboding into Septimus's stomach. A** Darke **enchantment was crackling in the air.

He slowly approached the decaying building. The roof had caved into the second floor, which had more than half of the bricks in its walls missing and looked like the jagged bones of a skeleton. The first floor looked as fine as the other buildings beside it though that wasn't saying much on Cutpurse Cut; all of them had shattered windows and rotting doors. Thankfully, there was no crowd surrounding the building that day, seeing as they were all rushing about with their tasks before the rain really started pouring. A few builders were sitting on the front step. They were supposed to be fixing the building, but after all of their attempts disappeared within a few seconds of them finishing, they decided to call it quits and instead wait for the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's assistance. Septimus quietly approached them.

"Hey," one worker said loudly as they all caught sight of Septimus, "you're not the ExtraOrdinary!"

"Yeah," they all chorused in monotone, gazing accusingly at Septimus, as though it was his fault he wasn't wearing the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's purple cloak.

"No, I'm not," he agreed, coming to a stop beside them. "I'm her Apprentice."

"Just an Apprentice?" the first man repeated. "I didn't ask for any Apprentice when I requested the ExtraOrdinary. Now, I'll have to lodge another complaint at the Tower! And paper work isn't my strongest skill either…"

Septimus's eyes hardened. "I assure you, I'm qualified enough to handle this."

"I really doubt that, boy," the man responded sharply. When Septimus didn't shy away, he demanded, "Well, where's your proof of this 'qualification'?"

"Yeah, where is it?" the other workers chorused again angrily.

"It's right here." Septimus raised one of his arms up from beneath his cloak. The purple ribbons on the hems of his sleeve gleamed in the dim light. "These mean I'm a Senior Apprentice. And since that makes me the _Senior ExtraOrdinary_ Apprentice, I'd say I'm more than qualified for the task, yes?"

The man glowered at the completely confident Septimus, who was nearly the same height as his chin, and stepped grudgingly to the side. A flash of respect gleamed in his eyes as he nodded for his fellow workers to vacate the front steps as well. He gestured towards the front door of the building, saying, "Well, do what you must."

"Thank you," Septimus nodded.

He cautiously approached the door, feeling the workers' eyes, and some others from the shadows, watching his every gesture. He raised his hands and rested them on the moldy wooden door, bowing his hooded head in concentration. His green eyes glazed over and a purple mist pooled around his feet, mixing with the white wisps already swirling along the street. The builders took another few unconscious steps backward. For all of them, except the one man who went to the Wizard Tower to first request Marcia's assistance, this was their first contact with any form of **Magyk**, and it made them jumpy.

After a few moments and an increase in the intensity of the rain, Septimus stepped back from the door and let out an exhausted breath.

"The source of the decay is a **Darke **force," he told his intrigued audience over his shoulder. "It's a good thing you went to Marcia when you did. This could have turned into a horrible infestation."

The strange thing, though, was that the highest concentration of **Darke Magyk** was coming from below the building, in the basement. Septimus expected it to be at its most potent near the top, where the decay was taking place. He'd make a point of reporting that to Marcia later that day.

He took another deep breath to clear his mind and pulled back his hood, so the mental connection between him and the building wouldn't be disrupted. He made an **Anti-Darke **sign with his left hand, which accompanies the type of strong cleansing spell Septimus was about to use. He placed his other hand, with the Dragon Ring shimmering on his index finger, onto the door and closed his eyes. The purple mist appeared once more, this time a deep violet that enveloped his entire body. The air grew heavy and the air crackled with **Magyk**. The sudden scream of thunder from the now deep grey sky above made the entire cluster of builders jump.

The purple mist eventually faded, but the soupy atmosphere remained, this time from the sudden thunderstorm rather than Septimus. Septimus's head was already soaked by the time he finished the spell, and he immediately yanked his hood up. He turned to the shivering builders.

"It should be alright now," he shouted through the downpour. He saw the one man, who seemed to be the leader of the bunch, nod. "You can get back to work whenever you want."

"Thank you, Apprentice," he responded, his naturally booming voice easily heard through the din of the storm. "We'll begin again tomorrow."

Lightning briefly illuminated Septimus's grin. "I'd say today's not the best day to do it, huh?"

The man's rumbling laugh was his only reply. With another wave and a nod of farewell, Septimus bolted along the slippery street, the slime made even more hazardous with the addition of rainwater. He tore down Cutpurse Cut, quickly turning off onto a side street. He stopped in the stoops of whatever houses he could to protect himself from the storm along his trek back to Wizard Way.

Sheltered on the front steps leading to a tiny, cozy bakery on Wizard Way, Septimus did a simple **See **spell to check if the lights of Marcia's rooms were on at the top of the tower. It was all dark up there, so an extremely simplified **Find **was used to make sure she was still at the Manuscriptorium. When he felt her there, just across the Way, Septimus breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was safe.

He turned and entered the bakery quickly, keeping the near horizontal rain outside where it belonged. He watched the downpour for a while, wondering where it had suddenly sprung from. He sensed no **Darkenesse **about it, so it must have been a spring phenomenon. The smells of the foods behind him soon captured his attention and, after asking the shopkeeper for the time, realized it was already a little past lunch. He selected a treat for himself and was about to sit down to eat it when he heard an earsplitting crack of thunder and cringed. He suddenly asked for a second treat and to put them both in a bag for him to take.

Clutching the brown bag firmly within his cloak, Septimus braved the rains once more and crossed the deserted Way, heading for the Manuscriptorium. He ducked inside, soaked to the bone and shivering. He rushed down between the rows of scribes towards the back, desperate to escape from the savage chill of the storm. Thunder shook the building again and he grimaced. He caught sight of Marcia, tucked deep in the back corners, her cloak pulled tight around her and her expression miserable. She seemed to be trying to drown out the sounds of the storm by plunging into the countless tomes in front of her on a large wooden table. Her determination to be aloof to her surroundings kept her from noticing her Apprentice's approach.

Septimus knew that Marcia wasn't afraid of storms. Instead, her fear came from memories, recollections of her imprisonment in Dungeon Number One, caused by the sounds of a storm. Typically, her nightmares were real nightmares, existing only in sleep. But Septimus knew that extreme storms like this one could create dazes where the horrors were recounted with terrifying details, details that would normally be blurred in her slumber. She would be prey to these memories at any time, especially if she was alone in the dark corners of the Manuscriptorium.

He approached the table she was hunched over and softly greeted, "Hello, Marcia."

"Septimus," Marcia started abruptly, her suddenly frantic eyes breaking through their calm numbness as she turned her gaze to her Apprentice, "what are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I was on my way back home just after the storm started. It just got a lot worse, and I figured the Manuscriptorium was closer."

Marcia looked concerned, but said nothing. She noticed his steady shivering and quickly hastened him to a chair. She untied his damp green cloak, laying it on the chair on her other side to dry, and placed her own around his shoulders. He smiled at her gratefully beneath his dripping wet blonde curls.

With a tiny yawn, he reached into the brown bag and pulled out a strangely colored pastry before passing the bag to a dubious Marcia. She soon found herself with a blueberry treat and a grateful, beaming smile on her face. Septimus actually remembered her love for fruit.

"Thank you, Septimus," she said, still smiling. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

He smiled at her in return, before quietly informing her about the success of his errand. They munched slowly on their treats and debated back and forth about the source of the **Darke **energy's location back in Cutpurse Cut.

The storm raged on, unnoticed by either.

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><p><strong>Hmm, I'm still getting used to the characters, so please excuse the jerky narrative (not to mention the generic scenes) for now. I fear it's completely without flow... But I'll get better with time, I hope(let's all hope). As usual, if there are any gramatical mistakes, please tell me. And I appreciate any reviews you all can give; every one of them matters. Now, I'm off to help my mother set up our troubleshooting Xbox 360 (don't you just hate error codes?). Anyway, I'll probably update again within the next few days. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! <strong>


	3. Premonitions

**Hello again, dear readers. I'm sorry for the delay with this one, but I promise this won't happen often. The past few days I've had trouble finding the time to get on the laptop to write these things up, so instead I opted for handwriting them. So, regardless of the delay, I have this chapter ready and the next nearly done (I just have to proofread). I hope you'll forgive me for the wait. And expect the next chapter in the next couple of days. :)**

**Disclaimer: Sep Heap's not mine. If he was, I'd have him fall in love with nobody in the canon, just so he can seem that much more available. (Wouldn't we all want a sweet boy like him? ...Or am I just desperate? Hmm, don't answer that.)**

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><p>Jenna sat quietly on the cushioned window seat of her room, watching the storm. Clutching a pillow tight to her chest, she watched any remaining stragglers scurry about Wizard Way, desperate for shelter. Maybe it was just a trick of her eye, but Jenna could have sworn she saw some green billowing in the violent gusts some way down the road, near the Manuscriptorium. She quickly shook her head with a smile. Marcia wouldn't have let Septimus out in this kind of weather; she'd want to keep a close eye on him, like she always did during a storm.<p>

Bo Tenderfoot, Jenna's very best friend for as long as she could remember, was seated on the regal crimson bed with her typical expression of awe. She was always stunned by the princess life Jenna now led; how many times had they imagined that very thing happening to them only a few years ago? All of the games of pretend hadn't prepared Bo for the sight of Jenna in a rich red tunic, the gold circle the Queen always used to wear then nestled on her head and a permanent home in the resplendent Palace. Bo wasn't jealous, for she knew she wasn't suited for that life, and Jenna invited her over often enough to satisfy her cravings for those old fantasies they used to share.

"It doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon, huh?" Bo mused as she followed Jenna's gaze.

"Doesn't look like it," Jenna replied absently, watching rivulets of rain trickle down the glass with interest.

"Well," Bo continued when Jenna grew silent and pensive once again, like she always did on rainy days, "do you mind if I stay a bit longer than we agreed? I'm not really looking forward to walking home in _that_."

Jenna's violet eyes flashed to her friend. "I wouldn't make you walk home in this weather! Of course you can stay. Stay for as long as you like!"

"How about forever?" Bo inquired with her eyes once again glassy as she continued her examination of Jenna's lavish room.

Jenna grimaced. "You can have it," she replied, gesturing to the ornate ceiling Bo was avidly staring at. "It's much too grand for me."

"You mean you're _still _not used to it all, yet?"

"Obviously not, and I probably never will be."

"Now, don't think like that." Bo's greatest talent was, perhaps, patronizing others. It was closely followed by admiring boys who always overlooked her, whether they were conscious of it or not. Sadly, Bo was incredibly easy to miss, much to her dismay, when someone scanned the room, with her frizzy hair and bland worn clothes (and Sally Mullin probably being a distant relative, if Bo's hair was anything to go by). Jenna wanted to make a point of introducing her to Septimus. She had a feeling Bo would take to him with vigor, and Sep, being the eternally polite boy he was, would never purposefully turn away, even if he wanted to. It was high time Septimus got involved with someone, regardless of Marcia's protests, though Jenna didn't have much hope. Septimus, so far, had never been very interested in anyone she sent his way; it infuriated her.

At Jenna's withering look, Bo continued, "It just takes time. You're incredibly suited for being a ruler. It's in your blood, and blood never lies."

A knock on the thick wooden door, adorned with intricate carvings of flowers and sunlight, stopped Jenna's reply on the tip of her tongue. She raised herself up with an unconscious grace Bo couldn't help but admire, and practically glided over to the door. Her friend couldn't be more certain that Jenna was destined to do well.

Milo Banda was revealed on the other side of the door, waiting patiently. As soon as he caught sight of Jenna, his laughing eyes grew more affectionate, and he even gave a small wave to her friend, who had sat up on the bed and was watching the scene with interest.

"Oh, hello, Milo," Jenna greeted formally.

The smile returned to Milo's eyes and he gave her a deep bow.

"Greetings, Princess Jenna," he replied, mimicking her formal, stilted speech. This earned a small giggle from Bo. Jenna turned pink and frowned.

"Now, you will have to excuse me, Miss Tenderfoot, for borrowing Jenna for a few minutes. There is something I'd like to speak with her about privately. Is that alright, Princess?"

Jenna gave a stiff nod and followed Milo out into the hall. Thunder boomed dimly through the thick stone walls as they stood to the side of the hall, next to a tall, narrow window, firmly latched shut against the winds just moments before. Sir Hereward drifted away to subtly give them privacy. Milo looked Jenna directly in the eye.

"Now, Jenna," Milo began, "I will be revealing the news to everyone else in a few days time, but I felt I should tell you in advance before you caught wind of the rumors."

"What news?" Suspicion sharpened her inquiry.

Her father took a deep breath. "I'll be going away on a new voyage in a little more than a week's time."

"Oh." Jenna paused and recoiled in surprise. He had only just returned; why was he leaving so soon? Though she was put on edge by his continued presence, even Jenna couldn't keep the instinctual twinge of pain from entering her heart. She spoke around the lump gathering in her throat. "Well, I hope you have a safe trip. But why would you tell me about it in advance? I could have heard just like everyone else when you officially announce it."

Milo looked uncomfortable.

"Well, Jenna, it's just that…"

"What?"

He gazed at her again with complete seriousness. "I don't know when I'll return, or even if I ever return. And that's something I should tell you firsthand."

Jenna was stunned. _Never _return? Milo hastened to explain.

"I'll be headed further out to sea than I ever have before. In fact, I'll be going so far away that maps won't be at all reliable to me anymore. Where I'm headed has never even been properly charted."

"But why are you going so far?" She paused and swallowed heavily. "Is it because I'm so distant with you?"

"Oh, Jenna, no," he murmured soothingly. He drew her into his warm chest with muscular, sure arms. Though his embrace was so different from Silas's, Jenna still felt the same resonance stir within her. This was her blood father. And blood never lies, just as Bo said.

"I love you dearly, Jenna, no matter what you do" Milo continued, smiling down at his sniffling daughter. "Never doubt that." He paused and watched as she made a great effort to regain control of her emotions, her face blazing with embarrassment as she squirmed for distance. "I am actually doing this for young Miss Syara."

"What does Syrah have to do with it?" Jenna asked quietly as she extracted herself from Milo's arms quickly, rubbing her watery eyes with the backs of her hands as she did so. "Is something wrong?"

Milo heaved a deep sigh. "I haven't the faintest idea why. All that's clear to me is that she is in desperate need of a major change of scenery. Despite you and that young Apprentice boy working valiantly to put her at ease, it seems it's all been in vain."

Jenna cringed. "The Castle must be reminding her of all she's lost. Julius Pike was like a dear father to her."

"Yes, and I'm sure the loss must be staggeringly painful to both parties," Milo rumbled, gazing steadily at Jenna who refused to meet his gaze. She absently nodded.

"I agree. Sep's incredibly close to Marcia, too, and I don't even want to think about how agonizing it would be to them if they were permanently separated like that."

"The bond between Wizard and Apprentice is a mysterious thing," he mused, turning to gaze out at the soaked Palace lawns. "The ties that exist between the two, provided they are forged with clear intentions and openness, often never break, even after they've parted ways."

"I can't imagine Sep and Marcia ever splitting up." She smiled wryly. "Mum seems to think Marcia will have him forever."

"Perhaps she will." Jenna shot him a questioning glance. "That boy didn't have a mother until a few years ago. Even though he knows Madam Sarah is his blood related mother, Madam Marcia is the dominant female figure in his life. Even after the Apprenticeship is completed, a part of him will forever remain tied to her." He frowned. "I doubt he'll ever completely belong to his mother after that."

Jenna ignored his pointed stare, instead choosing to gaze out into the passing storm. The sky was beginning to lighten after the couple hours of constant darkness. A steady downpour still fell, but it seemed that the neck breaking winds had died down. Hooded figures could be seen down the Way cautiously emerging from their shelters.

"So," she murmured, "do you mean that he considers Marcia to be his mother?"

"No, I don't. His relationship with her is different than one between a mother and a son. They are what each other needs, and that kind of relationship evolves as they grow."

Jenna made a face. "I like Marcia and all, but I don't know how Sep can be so close to her and still adore being her student. They're like polar opposites."

"That's the mystery of it all," Milo replied. "There is no logic behind it; it just is. And I'm positive Syrah and Julius Pike had a similar bond. That's why I want to help the young woman, give her a chance at a new life, free from all her nightmares."

Jenna smiled at him, much to his pleasure. "That's good of you."

"It's what I do," he replied airily, earning a tinkling laugh from Jenna. She turned and was about to make her way back to her room before a sudden thought crossed her mind.

"Hey, Milo," she began. He had already started to walk down the hall, but eagerly turned back at the sound of her voice, which sounded so like his dear Cerys. "Would you mind if I told my Mum about you leaving? If I did, then we could pull together a farewell feast for you right before you leave."

Milo looked stunned and didn't respond.

"I would really like to do this," Jenna insisted. "A proper farewell would be good luck for both you and Syrah with your journey."

Her father seemed to finally manage to kick his brain into gear for an answer. It was a brilliant smile.

"I would love it!" he exclaimed, his grin catching. "And I'm sure Syrah will too. It will give her a chance to give the Apprentice boy she's been pining for a proper farewell."

"Do you mean Septimus?" she inquired sharply.

"Hmm? Oh yes, that was his name! Such a nice boy he is… Well, Jenna, thank you so very much for this. You truly are a most wonderful daughter." He planted a quick peck on the top of her head before practically skipping off down the corridor, whistling gleefully.

Jenna giggled at his antics before quickly reentering her room and exclaiming to Bo, "There's going to be a feast in a week's time, and you're invited!"

Two squealing girls, who were always up for a celebration, could be heard all the way down the Long Walk. Sir Hereward, who returned to his post outside Jenna's bedroom, smiled widely with a slow shake of his head.

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><p>After the rain had let up to a light drizzle, Sarah Heap picked up her cloak and fastened it around her neck, ready for her weekly trek to Sally Mullin's Tea and Ale House. She brushed aside a pile of papers Silas had recently been poring over for his newest pamphlet, and revealed her trusty watering can. Leaving Silas hunched over his rickety old desk, Sarah walked directly past to the window to water her plants. These were the first plants she'd ever grown for pleasure, and she was determined to coax them to proper health. While living with six boys, she never had the time at hand to properly care for any large plants. She could barely keep up with her herb garden. But now, like a contented hen with all of her chicks vacated from the nest, Sarah Heap was taking everything slowly and smoothly, incorporating as much luxury as she could into the still cluttered apartment in the Ramblings.<p>

A muffled cry escaped past her lips. A small brown rat was sitting on the windowsill, looking at her expectantly. After the drama of the past few years, Sarah had learned to recognize a Message Rat when she saw one. She took a deep breath to steady her frazzled nerves, for it disturbed anyone to suddenly find a rat in their home, whether it carried a message or not. Silas still scrawled on with his rough draft, always completely oblivious when working.

"**Speeke, Rattus Rattus**," Sarah finally said. The Message Rat, one of Stanley's few recent recruits, straightened itself out purposefully and opened its mouth to begin.

"I assume I'm addressing Madam Sarah Heap?" At Sarah's impatient nod, he carried on. "I have a message from Princess Jenna recorded at 3:09 this afternoon precisely."

"Jenna sent the message?" Sarah enquired excitedly.

"Yes, indeed, Madam," the rat answered respectfully. "Do you wish to hear it?"

"Yes, yes, of course!"

"Very well. Message begins…"

A few moments later, Silas found himself torn from his pamphlet by a jubilant Sarah. Utterly bemused, he followed along behind his wife, picking up his cloak when he saw her destination was the door. He even caught sight of the Message Rat still on the sill and sighed. Those rats always brought trouble.

And Silas was then absolutely sure there was trouble. He could hear Sarah muttering on about "the party" and how she would "never be prepared in time if I don't hurry". Silas groaned and followed her quickly, knowing that he'd be pulled along every agonizing step of the way, unless, of course, he lied himself out of it. Yes, that was beginning to look like a fine option, indeed…

Half an hour later, Sarah had dragged Silas inside the Big Bloomer flower shopand, when none of the blossoms satisfied her, took him through Wizard Way, gazing at all of the washed out flowers with her intense green eyes. He trailed along behind, sighing and thinking longingly of his pamphlet-in-progress waiting for him back home.

Ever since he'd managed to catch his breath after being dragged out of the door, Silas had been hounding Sarah for the reason behind the party with growing panic. When she completely ignored him, instead muttering to herself about flower arrangements and this new product Jenna requested in her message for her mother to buy, fingernail paints, Silas grew utterly alarmed. After strolling through quite a few shops with an antsy Silas trailing along behind her, Sarah finally cast him one more amused glance before breaking the news.

"Milo Banda is heading off on a new voyage in a few weeks. Jenna's holding a farewell feast for him to wish him good luck."

The light that flared to life in Silas's green eyes both appalled Sarah and entertained her. All of her emotions quickly turned to horror, though, as Silas began whistling loudly and dancing down the Way, looking like the complete idiot Marcia always claimed he was. Sarah quickly averted her frazzled gaze and turned back to the flowers with a blazing face.

Silas, still floating on his personal high, caught sight of Septimus and Marcia cautiously emerging from the Manuscriptorium. Their concerned eyes were fixed on the still threatening, but no longer pouring, sky.

"Septimus, come here!" Silas called, hastening to catch up to them with a jaw cracking smile on his face. His son saw the spring in his father's step and grinned widely. Marcia looked just as horrified as Sarah. "You'll never believe what's happened, my boy."

"Oh, yeah, Dad?" Septimus asked lightly.

"Oh for goodness' sake, have some restraint, Silas," Marcia hissed, glancing at the intrigued passersby.

"I can't," Silas replied happily, that goofy, gleeful smile still on his face. He hummed happily to himself and pirouetted to his tune. Marcia pinched the bridge of her nose. If those books hadn't given her a headache, Silas certainly would.

"What are you so giddy about, Dad?"

Silas started laughing heartily, unable to containing himself any longer. "Milo Banda's leaving again!" He, on a whim, grasped Septimus under the shoulders and swung him around in a complete circle. Marcia and Sarah looked on, more horrified than before. Septimus was just amused.

Silas quickly set Septimus down with a grimace. His shoulder made an audible _crack _as he stood straight. "Looks like you're a bit too big to lift, Septimus."

"Should I take that as an insult?"

"Well," Marcia began hastily, "its best that Septimus and I head off now, Silas. He has an exam he needs to study for."

"He never needs to study," Silas replied. "He'll pass with flying colors as usual." He leaned in close to Septimus. "Skip the test. It's about time you finally missed one, and there's no crime in leaving Marcia hanging once in a while."

"I heard that," Marcia snapped.

"I'll pass, Dad."

"What a shame…"

Sarah continued on shopping, claiming to all who asked that she had no relation _whatsoever _to the madman tearing through the Way, thank you very much.

Silas reached into one of his sticky pockets and retrieved a handful of floppy, chewy black licorice snakes. He held them out to Septimus. "Care for one?"

Septimus cringed. "I hate licorice, especially the black ones." Silas looked briefly put out before shoving them in Marcia's direction hopefully. She shook her head vehemently; she'd never eat anything that came out of Silas Heap's grubby wolf hair covered hand. She wasn't fond of licorice either.

"Why did you get licorice?" Septimus pressed. "Ma Custard's got tastier sweets to sell. You know, the sweets that are _actually _sweet?"

Silas grimaced. "Your mother bought them by the bag after a recommendation from Sally, thinking they'd make a good treat. But after she tried one, she found she simply couldn't stomach them. I've been offering them to everybody, but no one's taken any." He sighed heavily. "It seems no one likes them."

A strong wave of hatred, tinged with deadly **Darkenesse**, spewed from a nearby alley. It was directed solely towards Septimus. He recoiled, shuddering from the force as its coldness touched his back. His wild green eyes searched out the source, but could spot nothing in the pitch black shadows and he couldn't sense anything in the area. He turned back to his father and tutor, thoroughly disturbed and unsettled. Silas knew enough to instantly become grave, and Marcia, who had detected the stab of malice directed at her Apprentice, was left with a strange urge to grab his wrist and drag him to shelter.

It seemed that the** Darkenesse** was growing.

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><p><strong>Not much going on in this one, I know, but I'll tell you now that I'm just setting up for the trials to come. And once the action starts, I don't plan on stopping. So, please make do with the snail pace (slow and steady wins the race!). But I did introduce the main problem, kinda... Well, anyway, I was pleased with this one, though I think I made Milo too sappy. I just can't seem to pinpoint his character. I mean, I don't see anything wonderful in him, but fans are still clamoring for him and Marcia to become a couple. I can't say I understand it, so I guess that's why Milo sort of slips through my desperate fingers. I'd rather Marcia be with no one at all, rather than with someone unfitting. But that's just my two cents, though still, don't expect any MiloXMarcia action here. Sorry to disappoint those who were wishing for something of the sort.<strong>

**But regardless, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. Please tell me what you think; I do this both for my love of the series and my love of writing. Praise and/or criticism will do me good. ;)**

**An extra big thank you to my reviewers for leaving their feedback (Liberated Marionette and Kida Ookami), as well as the anonymous readers for bothering to check this out. (Yes, I know you're there. Mind telling me what you think? And yes, I'm looking at _you_...) I would've replied to you too, oh mysterious Kida Ookami, but sadly you remain beyond my reach. So, I'd like to say thank you for reviewing. I hope you like the story!**


	4. Merrin Meredith

**Now, I know I promised there wouldn't be a delay, but hear me out! It's midterm season again, so I'm kinda swamped right now. TT_TT And does anyone else have teachers who assign extra tests and make essays due around the major stuff, misterms or finals? Or am I the only one who has to put up with it? *sigh* Well, anyway, this chapter's not really Septimus centered, but instead Merrin centered. (... O_o) But the plot's creeping to life in this one, so I hope you all enjoy, regardless.**

**Disclaimer: If it was mine, the... well, everything would be better. After all, I'm not Angie Sage... *sob***

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><p>Merrin Meredith walked briskly in the shadows of the Castle, sulking and muttering darkly to himself. He was in a black mood, the worst he'd had in a few months. To start off his day, he'd left his hideout in Cutpurse Cut after practicing his <strong>Darke Magyk<strong> in the basement like he did every day. He'd run out of licorice snakes the night before and was eagerly anticipating an early visit to Ma Custard's sweet shop to restock his stash. He'd still been a great distance from the delicious shelter when the clouds broke and the rain began to pour in buckets. The water made his greasy black hair more matted and slick than usual and more than one trickle of an ice cold raindrop slipped past his collar, down his spine.

When he arrived at Ma Custard's, Merrin was greeted with a shortage of his favorite treat. Apparently, someone had purchased practically the entire inventory of the snakes; a very rare occurrence, seeing as everyone else typically ignored the snakes. Soaked and thoroughly put out, Merrin bought the last of the licorice treats which only amounted to enough to barely fill just one of his tunic pockets. Normally, he'd have bought enough to fill five whole pockets to bursting point. Irate and dangerous, he waited impatiently for the rain to let up while Ma Custard attempted to hide from his scowling black eyes.

His next stop was Gothyk Grotto. His worn brown boots had been bothering him lately. It wasn't that they were uncomfortable or about to fall apart; it was just that the rest of his outfit was made of worn black fabric, so the brown of the boots stood out ridiculously and ruined his "tough, frightening" attire. With the notion of trading in his ragged boots for a new pair of pristine black leather ones, Merrin's mood lifted considerably. It was still drizzling, but mercifully the sky kept the downpour inside. The clouds swelled with their burden, as though they were holding their breath and preparing to release it when they could catch the greatest amount of people unaware. Merrin hastened onward.

Unfortunately for him, and anyone who crossed his path afterward, Gothyk Grotto was not as successful a trip as he'd hoped.

"Is this all you have?" Merrin asked incredulously, slamming down a pair of black boots on the counter in front of the shopkeeper, Igor. These boots were in even worse shape than the ones already on Merrin's feet, though at least they were black. The toes of the boots were no longer connected to the rest of it, the soles so worn that they offered no support for anyone desperate enough to put them on. Only one had a shoelace; the other merely flopped open carelessly.

Igor, a man with blandly colored eyes surrounded by thick layers of black pencil, looked up emotionlessly at the seething Merrin. He shrugged loosely, jingling his many earrings and folded his boney white hands on the counter in front of him. He pierced his customer with a baleful stare.

"If that's all you found, then it's all we have, eh," he replied easily.

"You must have some others in the back!"

"Those, if there even are any, aren't for sale yet."

"Go check anyway," Merrin growled. He pulled a Charm from his belt and shoved it in Igor's face. It had a menacing **Darke** aura swirling inside that even Igor, who had never been near any **Magyk** in his life, could sense. "If you don't, I'll curse your pathetic little shop with the worst spell I've got."

Igor visibly recoiled, as if stung. That Charm was so **Darke** and dangerous; it both frightened Igor and entranced him. Being a good person at heart, he had no intention of getting mixed up with that stuff, but having a real **Darke Magyk** Charm in his store was bound to bring in more customers…

"I'll have a look," Igor began hesitantly, eyeing Merrin as though he was rigged to explode at any second. "But as payment for the favor, you have to give me that Charm, eh."

Merrin's scowl deepened, but he managed to pull his face back to a neutral stare before Igor could draw any conclusions.

"Alright, I'll give it to you. Just go in the back and check."

Igor turned and did just that. Merrin was left with his thoughts, more than a bit unsure. Normally, he would just forcibly take the boots when Igor came back, keeping both them and the Charm for himself. The problem was he didn't want to be on Igor's bad side, for then he'd never be allowed inside Gothyk Grotto again; it was where he did all his wardrobe shopping.

The shopkeeper came back, looking a bit dejected. He wanted that Charm very much, but, just like he suspected, there were no more boots in the back.

"Well?" Merrin demanded when he saw Igor's empty hands. "Where are the boots?"

"I couldn't find any more." Igor braced himself. "Those are all we have."

"But they're disgusting!" Merrin exclaimed, pulling back his hand with a snarl. Igor saw him prepare to cast the spell and pleaded with him desperately.

"Please don't! I- I'll…"

Merrin raised an eyebrow. "You'll what?"

"I'll get those boots repaired for you, eh," he offered quickly. "I know a really good shoe mender. He owes me a favor so I'm sure he'll agree to fix these if I ask."

Merrin lowered his hand after a few cautious seconds. He smiled slickly.

"Let's see you make the appointment first." He tossed the Charm up and caught it again. "Then, you'll get your payment."

Igor, shaking and slumped over with relief, called to his new assistant, the efficient replacement for Matt, Marcus, and Marissa. A small grubby boy with a round face and deep shadows under his eyes suddenly appeared from behind Merrin, who hastily tried to hide his startled jump. Settling his rumpled feathers back into place, he watched Igor sigh and order his assistant.

"Head down to Terry Tarsal and set up an appointment, eh. There are boots here in need of major repairs, and make sure to mention it's me ordering. He'll be more up to the challenge then." The boy nodded and sprinted off. Merrin was looking at Igor strangely.

"I could've asked Terry Tarsal myself."

"He wouldn't have done the repairs if you did. They're so expensive and difficult to mend that I never really bothered before now, eh. Those boots need to be seriously fixed, and, as I said, he owes me a favor. He'll do it for me, but not a regular customer."

Merrin backed down and said a silent farewell to his Charm. While it might have given him a bitter taste in his mouth, if the rare Charm, the only one he managed to find from DomDaniel's old collection washed up on the shores of the Marshes, was what Igor wanted, that was what he'd get, if only to keep Merrin in his good graces. Merrin sighed and dropped it onto the counter. Igor brushed it to the side with his dark purple quill; he'd keep from touching it for as long as he could.

"You know," he continued slowly, "you might want to keep your distance from Terry, Merrin Meredith."

"How do you know my name?" Merrin looked shell shocked. Nobody had ever recognized him before in the streets.

"Everyone knows how you look. The ExtraOrdinary Wizard made sure a few weeks ago that we all know who you are. We're supposed to turn you in on sight if we see you around here."

Merrin recoiled swiftly from the counter, starting towards the door with wild black eyes.

"I won't tell about you visiting, eh," Igor said quickly. "I have a privacy policy towards customers to always be faithful, no matter whom they are." He'd never been bothered with his personal rules before, but now Igor was struck with intense irritation. Merrin Meredith screamed danger and Igor wanted nothing more than to evacuate him from the shop. He hid his exasperated scowl behind a blank stare.

"But what does that have to do with Terry Tarsal?" Merrin didn't approach the counter again, even going so far as to pull his hood farther over his face as he moved closer to the door. The distance gave Igor enough reason to answer.

"He's the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's personal shoemaker. Doubtless, he'd tell her in a second if he saw you, even though he's not exactly fond of her."

Merrin, now a bit more enlightened about the danger of his predicament, pulled his hood down securely and flashed one more longing glance towards his **Darke** Charm. Sighing, he strolled out of Gothyk Grotto and pulled a licorice snake from his tunic pocket to munch on as he made his way back to Cutpurse Cut.

Merrin knew he was supposed to be living with his mother out in Port, but the wretched woman wanted him to do actual work, manual labor no less! He'd soon left her upset and alone in her dingy home, his still flickering hatred soon leading him back to the Castle. He had no intention of hunting down Septimus Heap like before; even he wasn't foolish enough to attempt that, especially with that Marcia Overstrand still furious with him. Speaking of the devil woman, Merrin couldn't help but smirk at that Heap's misfortune; Marcia Overstrand seemed to be even more unpleasant than his old master, DomDaniel. At least Merrin could allow himself that small victory.

He had no true plans to attack to Castle again. If the opportunity ever presented itself, though, he probably wouldn't pass it up. **Darkenesse** still infested his very soul; after all, it was all that he'd known.

Instead, his objective was to improve his **Darke Magyk**. Again, he had no real plans for it, but having been apprenticed to DomDaniel for years, there was a craving inside that called for that cold feeling of power in his chest. When he first arrived back in the Castle, he'd been traveling through Cutpurse Cut and found an old abandoned building, perfectly whole except for the usual broken windows. Immediately, he moved in to stake it out. Since he was already in a seedy part of the Castle, any of his **Darke Magyk** would automatically be dismissed by any Wizards who sensed it. Such practices were common in the lower parts of the Castle's society.

He had completely settled into the basement by the end of the week. Living on licorice snakes and stolen fizzy drinks, Merrin set about to finally practicing his **Magyk**. He had just that one Charm left over from his time with DomDaniel; the rest had been found on the beaches in the marshes by the Boggart and destroyed by that old hag, Zelda. He'd been too wary of using it, what with it being an extremely high level spell, and it had been left in his pocket, forgotten and sticky from licorice snakes.

His practices began to take their toll on the building. It started to fall apart, bits and pieces of it decaying steadily in the face of the powerful **Darkenesse**. There was an enchantment DomDaniel had taught him to prevent this from happening, but Merrin, for the life of him, could not remember the incantation, and so gave up, leaving the building to its sad fate. He'd noticed the onlookers gathering around, but thought nothing of them. Let them stare; no harm would be done and the **Darke **aura would keep them at bay.

Merrin took the final turn onto Wizard Way. The quickest path back to his hideout required him to pass across the Way, and with the clouds once again darkening in preparation for another shower, Merrin wanted to be quick. Mindful of Igor's warnings, he pulled his hood further over his head and concealed his **Magykal Darkenesse **carefully.

Just as he was about to step out onto the Way, a flash of green and a loud laughing man caught his attention and made him jump back into the alley. He peered cautiously around the corner toward the commotion. A wave of undiluted rage filled him up from head to toe. There, just down the way, was that idiotic replacement Apprentice, Septimus Heap.

Septimus was watching the odd laughing man with an amused smile, while the ExtraOrdinary Wizard stood at his side, pinching the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. Merrin saw the brilliant, happy smile on the caterpillar boy's face and was filled with jealousy. It mixed sourly with the rage tingling on the back of his tongue. Together, the two emotions mixed together to form the greatest surge of hatred Merrin ever felt. It stirred the **Darkenesse** inside him. In an instinctual reflex, he expelled it all from his body to protect himself from its poison and directed it all towards Septimus.

He saw the boy flinch and felt a twinge of satisfaction. His sick glee was short lived, though, for that devil woman sensed the negative **Magyk** as well. Two pairs of pure, blazing green eyes darted his way. Merrin yelped and headed back in the direction he came from. Perhaps he'd take the longer way back to Cutpurse Cut…

It was the rotten cherry on top of his horrible day when he got back home. Not only had he not gotten enough licorice snakes to last the week, no new shoes, and lost his best Charm, when he reached his hideaway, there were builders studying its decaying second floor, talking animatedly and smiling. It looked like repairs were going to start up again soon.

Merrin could feel absolutely no trace of his **Darkenesse** left in the building, though telltale traces of it still skittered around in the shadows and dark corners all over the Castle. Whoever had cleansed it had done a remarkably thorough job; Merrin had more than enough **Darke Magyk **lurking inside to stop any Ordinary Wizard from fixing it. He realized with another burning wave of hatred that it must have either been the ExtraOrdinary Wizard or Septimus Heap who did this.

Merrin stood still for a moment. Then, he raised his sleeve and wordlessly screamed his frustration into it.

Just how much would it take to have a lair like Simon Heap?

* * *

><p>The day wasn't going so well for a certain Trader from the east, either, although this man was considerably better tempered about it all. Plastering a smile to his face, he watched gloomily as the stall in the Trader's Market that he was hoping would be his was now occupied by someone else.<p>

'Well,' he thought bitterly, chastising himself harshly, 'that's what you get for missing the deadline for stall reservations.'

With a sigh, he gathered his battered robes around himself and wrenched his heavy pack up higher on his shoulders, making his way towards Sally Mullin's Tea and Ale House like every other Trader that had some free time.

He'd spent the last seven years combing the seas in his tiny beloved boat, _Sauveur_, collecting any **Magyk** Charms he could from all the exotic places he visited. While he knew **Basyk Magyk**, it was definitely not his calling; all of those higher level spells simply boggled his mind. He planned to trade them later at some market, preferably in an area with a high demand for them. Trading **Magyk** Charms could lead a Trader along a very prosperous path, provided that the person knew what they were doing. This man was very experienced and wasn't ashamed to admit that he had the potential to be great at it. Unfortunately, he was plagued by severe absentmindedness, almost to the point that he'd forget what he was doing midway through. His wife had pled with him to choose a safer profession, one that kept him closer to home under her watchful eye, but he insisted otherwise. And with her passing on in the middle of the previous month, he planned for this to be a very long voyage.

Tugging his pack up higher on his shoulder, the Eastern Trader continued onto Wizard Way unknowingly while smiling at anyone who spared him a glance. The smile unconsciously fell from his face when the edge of his cloak, which had been dragging over the cobbles, was stepped on by a pair of ragged brown boots, ripping the fine wool. The Trader immediately helped the scowling boy regain his feet, an apology bursting from his lips despite the angry black eyes that pierced him from beneath the hood.

"I am so sorry, young man," he said earnestly.

"Watch where you're going, idiot," the boy snapped sharply.

He trudged on without another word, his nose up towards the sky. The Trader gazed after him wordlessly; was this how people behaved around here?

He inspected the tear in his cloak, very displeased with what he saw. It needed to be repaired urgently, but he didn't have the supplies. When the boy stepped on the edge, he kept his heavy foot down and, in the commotion, ripped the cloak even further. The Trader glanced around desperately for another store that looked like it sold cloaks. All of the strange shops on the Way, though, were much too unusual for him. Clutching his deep brown cloak close, he took a steadying breath and bravely approached the first youth he saw. He got along much better with younger people than he did with adults his own age. It was yet another reason why his wife had insisted he shouldn't be a Trader.

"Excuse me," he began hesitantly, addressing a boy clothed in green. He looked to be in his early teenage years and had an open, kind gaze. The lad turned away from his two companions, who the Trader saw were now bickering animatedly, with a smile.

"Yes?"

"Could you perhaps tell me where I might find a shop that sells cloaks like this one?"

The boy inspected the Trader's cloak briefly before turning to point down a side road.

"Just down there you'll find Gothyk Grotto, roughly five doors down on your left if you can't see the sign."

"Why wouldn't I be able to see it?" This Castle was just getting weirder and weirder.

"The shopkeeper, Igor, put an enchantment on it so it would disappear and reappear on a whim, as if the place was full of **Darke Magyk**."

The Trader was concerned. He made it a point to keep away from all **Darke** Charms while working.

"I'd rather not go near there, then…"

"Oh, no, it's perfectly harmless." The boy smiled. "It's just an illusion to attract more customers. Igor is actually a really nice guy, though a little strange. Believe me; you can trust him to have a clean business. All of the **Darke** tricks aren't really **Darke** at all."

The Trader looked skeptical. Though this boy was proving to be much more polite than the one from before, first impressions of the public were hard to get past.

"This shop will have a cloak?"

The boy smiled again. "Yes, one in that exact color, too, I'm sure. I'd send you to Bott's Cloaks, but he usually takes a while; you seem like you want one quickly."

The Trader finally returned his smile. It was then that he first saw the color of the lad's eyes: a pure, brilliant green. He grew excited.

"You are a Wizard, yes?"

"I'm a Wizard-in-training," the boy replied easily. "I'm the Apprentice to the ExtraOrdinary Wizard." Though such a statement could have easily been said with an overconfident air and a cocky expression, the boy said it so simply that it sounded utterly normal, though with an undertone of modest pride. The Trader quickly made his decision.

"Then, would you like a Charm in return for your help just now?"

The Trader reached behind him, dug his hand into the first pocket he found and took out a handful of Charms. A few of them tingled powerfully in his palm. The boy looked hesitant.

"I'd rather not," he grimaced, recoiling swiftly away.

"Please, take at least one off my hands," the Trader pleaded. "I'm supposed to be selling them in the Market, but I couldn't get a stall. And what's the point of a Trader with a full pack if that pack remains full?"

The boy shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I have to refuse. I don't accept Charms from people I don't know."

"Why is that?"

Green eyes drifted slowly to the ground. "There was an incident over a year ago, and let's just say I've learned my lesson."

The Trader watched him silently for a few moments.

"Well, alright," he finally relented. The lad raised his eyes once more. "But my offer's still there, so feel free to think it over while I'm gone."

The Trader's choice of words seemed to bring a smile to the young man's eyes, as though he was recalling a pleasant memory.

"Thank you very much, sir."

"I'll be around," the Trader said in parting. He turned and walked in the direction the boy had pointed, a spring in his step. Hopefully, more people were like that kind young lad.

He easily arrived at Gothyk Grotto. Despite the dark color scheme of the building, the Trader could sense no true malevolence outside the building, so he slipped quickly inside. He waited patiently for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when the shadows wouldn't disappear from around the counter, he realized it was real **Darkenesse**.

Remembering what the boy said before about the shopkeeper being kind at heart, the Trader advanced cautiously up to the counter. Pretending he didn't suddenly notice the **Darke** Charm on the counter in front of him, he cleared his throat and waited for Igor to appear.

He didn't have to wait long. Igor soon stumbled out from behind the curtain leading to the back rooms where he'd been doing his assistant's job in his absence. When Igor saw just a normal customer, rather than another Merrin Meredith, he relaxed and settled into his usual emotionless and mysterious mood.

"Yes?" he drawled lowly, seeing a shiver rattle the Trader's spine. This was a pleasant surprise; no one ever reacted like that to Igor's attempts.

"I'd like the purchase a cloak," the Trader said nervously, "one that looks like this." He raised the edge of his tattered brown cloak.

"You want one just like that?" Igor inquired, looking over the Trader's dark attire in case there was anything unusual.

"Yes, if you please."

Igor disappeared into the back to look for one, leaving the Trader to get a closer look at the **Darke** Charm. It truly did seem very dangerous and full of ill will. This Igor fellow seemed to have nothing to do with **Magyk** whatsoever, if his colorless eyes were of any indication. Deciding swiftly that the Charm would be better contained within his bag, designed specifically for holding **Magyk **of any kind, than sitting out on the counter, the Trader brushed the Charm into an empty pocket of his pack. A spine rattling cold malevolence came over him. He shuddered deeply as he fastened the ties, resolving that he wouldn't be opening that pocket any time soon.

Igor returned from the back rooms with a fine, thick cloak draped across his arms. While he was in the back, a deep calm cleansed his irritated mind and he figured he could sell a cloak in the back to this man, regardless of his rules against it. Igor settled the cloak onto the counter, stating the cost.

The Trader paid wordlessly, relieved that the man didn't notice the loss of **Darkenesse**. With his new cloak wrapped tight around him, he heaved his pack up higher and set off towards Sally Mullin's Tea and Ale House once more. The **Darke** Charm pulsated strongly on his back, but was overcome by another Charm, with more than three times its power, that held incredible **Anti-Darke Magyk** within.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's that. I hope everybody liked it! I'm setting up all the little pieces in the story in the next few chapters, like with this one. I'm pretty sure that they'll very soon all fit together. Thanks to my two reviewers, Liberated Marionette and Kida Ookami! I appreciate your input, as always. And another thank you to the rest of you for checking this out too. I love you all! :D (And now, I'm off to drink earl gray tea and write a <em>To Kill a Mockingbird<em> essay, all while fangirling over the latest episode of that BBC show, _Sherlock_. I'm sure nobody cares, but I'll have you know I'm drowning in the SLASH between Sherlock and John right now... And since I'm so happy and in such a beaming mood, I'm sure I'll blunder through the essay just so I can write the next chapter for this. WOO! PRIORITIES!)**


	5. Meetings and Partings

**Hello, again! I have to say, I'm really pleased with this chapter and am feeling pretty giddy about posting it. But maybe said giddiness is only because I just beat the new Zelda game, Skyward Sword, last night. Yeah, that's probably a big part of it... Sorry, I'm having a geek moment over here, if you'll kindly look away while a gather myself... (AAAAAAAHHHHH! THE FINAL BOSS! djshafldfnhvjgfal) But anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I was actually very unhappy with it at first, but after I rewrote it, I found the second time through to be much smoother. So, I hope everyone else likes it too. ****My imagination was working really well while writing this too. It must be because I had the Legend of Zelda 25th Anniversary CD playing on a loop in my ear... Ah, the Twilight Princess melodies alway inspire me... as does Skyward Sword. That's probably why I really want to get to the action-y parts of this fic. I'm high on life and Zelda epicness right now~ ...You can see where my mind is, huh?**

**Disclaimer: Do NOT own, dearies. If I did, the Port Witch Coven would've been blown to bits by now. HOW COULD THEY KILL ALL OF THOSE ANIMALS IN THEIR BASEMENT? (sorry, I'm re-reading Syren right now...)**

**WOO! LONGEST CHAPTER! ...so far...**

* * *

><p>The end of the week, and Milo's farewell feast, approached quickly on everyone in the Castle. Dress wear had to be dusted off and hair washed and stylized. It wasn't often that a feast was open to everyone, and so each and every person planned to go all out. The celebration, lasting long into the night, was awaited eagerly by all.<p>

Sarah and Jenna handled most of the preparations themselves, ranging from what was to be served down to the last dessert to what color the lilies should be in the flower arrangements. It was grueling work, but they enjoyed it heartily, for it was work that would show in a truly marvelous result.

Bo went to the Palace a few hours before the feast was to begin. She and Jenna then spent hours prepping themselves for the promising night. Jenna had bought a new kind of paint for fingernails during one of her breaks from planning the feast. Her mother had trouble finding it. She and Bo spent a few happy hours deciding on a color and painting one another's nails after their hair and dresses were on. It was hardly a ball, but both girls wanted to look their best for the dancing Sarah had scheduled for after the food.

Jenna had every intention of introducing Septimus to Bo that night in hopes that he would take to her and dressed her friend appropriately, though Bo knew nothing of these plans. Jenna had a nagging feeling deep in her gut that Septimus, though he'd always be polite, wouldn't be as taken as she hoped. He seemed to be completely uninterested in a relationship. Whenever she brought it up to him, he told her he was open to the possibility but didn't actively seek it out. His studies were first and foremost in his mind, in addition to settling down completely into his family and newfound life. Jenna could relate to that, if she was being completely honest. Septimus had only discovered his family around four years ago; any more serious relationships would be more stressful than they were worth.

Jenna sighed heavily and turned to excitedly talk to Sir Hereward, who she had invited into her room on a whim, about the feast while twisting Bo's frizzy red hair up into as elegant a twist as she could manage.

Septimus, meanwhile, was at the top of the Wizard Tower, deeply amused. He was standing against the wall of the sitting room while Marcia darted about frantically for her one missing purple python shoe, which she had ordered specifically from Terry Tarsal for this feast. They were finely done, infinitely better crafted than all of her others, with the skins shined to an iridescent glow. She'd spent much time admiring them that morning, but now, to her dismay, the one was nowhere to be found. Septimus just couldn't stop smiling.

Unfortunately, Marcia saw his expression.

"Would you stop laughing and help me, Septimus?" she exploded, not slowing the slightest bit in her search.

He couldn't stop a laugh from bubbling up between his lips as he got on his hands and knees, crawling around where Marcia would not and searching under the furniture. So far, Marcia had been averse to using **Magyk** to **Find** them, since she was forcing herself not to use it merely for her own convenience so as to set an example for her Apprentice. Quickly, her resolve was deteriorating as she watched the sun slip lower in the sky. Everything else was going fine. She'd dressed in her finest, her hair was behaving down to the last curl, and she'd even managed to make Septimus look presentable. In fact, she'd overheard a few female Wizards commenting about how dashing he looked, giving Marcia a warm, tingling feeling of pride in her gut. But all of her preparations paled in the face of this catastrophe; her shoes were the most important part of her ensemble.

Ignoring Septimus's muffled cry of glee, Marcia threw her hands up in exasperation and turned to stomp up the stairs to her closet for one pair of her regular python shoes, muttering darkly the whole time.

"Found it," Septimus finally exclaimed from behind the thick purple curtains. He emerged, looking more than a bit disheveled, and carried the shimmering shoe securely in his palm. Looking victorious, he passed it to a beaming Marcia.

"Oh, thank you, Septimus," she gushed as she slipped it on. "Where on earth was it?"

"Dangling by the heel on the window latch."

Marcia immediately inspected the heel for damage. "But how did it get there?"

Septimus shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe whatever put my sock in the coffeepot that one time came back."

* * *

><p>The sky was a pretty pale pink, and rapidly darkening to a deep magenta along the horizon above the surrounding walls, as Septimus and Marcia passed through the Great Arch. Alther and Alice, who had been making their way to the feast, were quietly floating above them, talking softly. They soon grew silent to watch the pair below with interest.<p>

"Marcia, it's fine," Septimus protested. She was struggling to put his hair back into place, walking down Wizard Way towards the Palace all the while. The curtains in the sitting room had rustled his straw colored curls into their usual haphazard spirals, springing out all over his head. A gentle breeze drifted up the Way, bringing cries of dismay from people traveling to the ball as well as misplacing the curl that Marcia had just coaxed into place. She huffed sharply.

"No, it's not," she replied stubbornly, still working steadily at it. She gave a smile of satisfaction as the final strand fell into place and leaned away proudly. They soon reached the Palace gates. Marcia stopped her Apprentice from passing through and studied him from head to toe. She quickly dusted off the shoulders of his finest set of green robes, which had been coated with a layer of dirt from crawling around in the corners of her rooms. After straightening his tunic one last time for good measure and biting her lip to smother her smile when Septimus heaved an irritated sigh, she stood back and nodded approvingly.

"You look great, Marcia," he said immediately when she shot him an expectant look.

"Thank you, Septimus."

Alther and Alice floated above, still watching wordlessly, but now they both were laughing softly.

* * *

><p>The feast was glorious. There was simply no other word to describe it. Everyone would be talking about it over the next few weeks, reliving in their daydreams all of the laughter and dancing while feasting on tender vegetables, succulent meats, and the sweetest fruit. When people arrived, they'd take any seats that were available at one of the many long tables in the Banquet Hall. They'd eat what they could reach, with the servants replacing any food as soon as it ran out or got cold. As more people arrived, those that were finished dining would walk serenely towards the Ballroom, talking and laughing with their companions. There was no music at first, so socializing was a must.<p>

Leaving Marcia to speak with a few other important figures in the Castle, Septimus set off towards Beetle, who was lingering in a corner, looking longingly at Jenna. She was talking animatedly with a few boys her own age, while a red headed girl hung back from the group. As Septimus got closer to Beetle, he heard him sigh sadly.

"Go up and ask her to dance," Septimus said abruptly, startling the pensive Chief Hermetic Scribe.

"Geez, Sep, don't do that," he breathed.

"I'll stop if you go up to her."

"But, I can't. I mean, how am I supposed to measure up to those guys?"

"What's so special about them?"

"Well, they're handsome and witty and charming, the perfect combination…"

"You'd better stop right there, Beetle, or I'll start thinking it's _them_ you're so infatuated with."

Beetle fixed him with a dry stare. "Just stuff it, Sep."

Septimus's expression softened. "Well, she knows you better than all of them anyway. I'd say you have the best chance to dance with her out of everyone in this room."

"You think so?"

"I'm positive."

Beetle smiled, but didn't move at all towards her.

"Do I have to push you up to her myself?"

"Please do."

Giving Beetle a playful shove to get him started, Septimus walked alongside him towards his sister.

Sarah and Jenna really did do a magnificent job with the decorating and recent remodeling, especially in this room. The old crystal chandeliers had been cleaned to within an inch of their life with each candle within lit a few hours before the guests started to arrive. Each light cast a multitude of rainbows around the room, the colors somewhat subdued by the hundreds of other candles positioned around the perimeter of the room. The room had eight thick stone pillars running along its length from the golden double doors to the wall of windows opposite looking out onto the Moat. The setting sun created a picturesque sight as it finally dipped below the horizon. The large marble floor had a smaller circle of a lighter stone in the middle for dancing on. It had a greater traction, giving the dancers firmer feet while spectators observed from around the pillars. Arrangements of vibrant flowers were guarding the doors and the corners of the rooms, while brightly colored strings of blossoms were wound around the pillars, adding color to the otherwise neutrally shaded room. The multitude of colorful dresses and the rainbows from the chandeliers also softened the look.

Septimus heard Beetle gulp noisily when they reached Jenna. She waved off her crowd and turned to her brother and his friend with a vibrant smile. Beetle immediately began stuttering something to Jenna, and Septimus pointedly turned away to give him some privacy. He failed to notice Jenna silently gesture Bo towards him before turning her complete attention to Beetle, smiling widely.

Bo hesitantly approached Jenna's brother. So far that night, all of Jenna's admirers had overlooked Bo completely, just like boys always tended to do with her. With such a horrible start to her night, she was more than a little wary of initiating contact on her own. There was a constant fear from when she was little that she would always be overlooked. But when she planted herself directly into Septimus's line of vision, he focused on her with a smile.

"Hello, Bo," he greeted. She was temporarily dazed; perhaps she hadn't had a boy smile directly at her in a while, but it seemed to her his smile was stunningly sweet. Finally, his words caught up to her frazzled, boy obsessed brain.

"Oh, hello, Apprentice," she replied politely with a shy smile and a furious blush at her silence.

"Please, call me Septimus."

"Well, then, you should call me… Hang on." Bo, at first attempting to be suave and charming, came up short. She turned her shell-shocked face towards him. "How do you know my name?"

There was that sunshine smile again. "You're Jen's best friend. Of course I know you!"

Bo blushed deeper. "You mean Jenna talks about me to you?"

"She has, yes."

They lapsed into silence. It was during this lull in conversation that Septimus overheard Beetle finally spit out his question and Jenna's acceptance to his invitation to dance. It was then, as though on cue with their princess, that the musicians strummed a few chords on their lyres and worked out the final kinks with their instruments and music sheets. The opening notes quietly promised a lively tune.

Jenna took Beetle's arm, and as they passed, Beetle shot Septimus a giddy, stupid grin. He, in return, gave him two thumbs up before turning to the girl in front of him.

"Aren't you going to dance?" he inquired. He gestured towards the boys who had previously been surrounding Jenna and were now glaring venomously at Beetle. Bo flushed.

"No, I wasn't asked."

Septimus tilted his head quizzically. "But you were surrounded by those guys before."

Bo shrugged her shoulders and gazed at the ground. "They were all interested in Jenna. Not a single one of them even looked twice at me." She glanced up in time to see Septimus smile brilliantly at her.

"Well then, let's make them notice you," he said easily, linking his arm smoothly with hers and gently propelling her towards the floor. "After they see you dance, they won't be able to stay away."

Bo didn't want to admit that Septimus's own lack of interest caused a pang of disappointment in her chest. As she was led onto the floor, she remembered Jenna lamenting about how he was too focused on his studies and his family to ever think about expanding his social circle into the world of relationships. With that in mind, Bo didn't want to be put out for her first, and possibly only, dance and instead felt a smile creep onto her freckled face. There was one last hurdle, though, to be crossed.

"I can't dance well," she murmured to him as they came to a stop.

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll do fine. But, if you're still worried, your dress is cut to flare out so that any stumbling feet will be unnoticed. Just lean on me if you feel like you're about to trip, let me lead, and above all, trust me. It'll be okay. And when they see your swift grace, all those boys will be flocking to you like crazy."

Bo couldn't help, but ask him herself. "But aren't you interested at all?"

His smile turned even gentler. "I'm sorry, Bo, but my interests lie in my studies. I'm very serious about becoming a Wizard, so I want to focus on that for now."

"You must be quite a book worm," Bo laughed, taken by surprise when she spoke with no stutter. It was so natural talking to him, even with the anxiety over dancing twisting in her gut.

He laughed with her. "Yeah, I guess I am. But it's not just that. I'm still kind of overwhelmed with suddenly having a family, friends and home to call my own. After living ten years thinking I'd always have nothing, what I have now can sometimes leave me a bit stunned."

"You'll never want for more, will you?" Bo inquired, still smiling.

"I didn't say 'never', but I can tell I'll be forever content with the things I have now if they're all I ever have. I'll never once take them for granted, I assure you."

They went silent after that with Bo adjusting her hands uncomfortably over his tunic clad shoulder. His hand was warm and calloused as it firmly gripped hers.

Septimus gazed around towards Beetle, shooting him an encouraging grin. Septimus himself had done this sort of thing many times before, back in the Young Army. One of the Chief Cadets had a pretty daughter who insisted on going to every dance there was in the Castle, though there were very few in that bleak time. Being a very unpleasant girl, she was never asked by any of the boys so she instead chose one of the Expendables to escort her during their night off-duty. She'd taken a liking to Boy 412 and so, Septimus often found himself accompanying her, learning how to dance and lead with poise, be light on his feet, and keep up a charming, suave air when talking with his partner.

He continued gazing around the Ballroom and caught sight of Silas, Sarah, Marcia and Alther who appeared to have previously been talking, though they were now looking at him and his partner as well as Jenna and Beetle. Alther was smiling softly while Silas had the goofiest grin on his face. His proud eyes sought his son's gaze, and he silently applauded him on his apparent catch. Septimus couldn't help but laugh at Marcia and Sarah's horrified expressions.

The musicians suddenly let their song burst forth in a flurry of sound. Septimus was already familiar with the dance from his Young Army days and confidently eased the stumbling Bo along.

"Keep your hand firmly on my shoulder," he murmured to her, grinning at her flustered face. She frantically glanced up at him, met his calm green eyes, and felt some of his confidence travel through their joined hands into her. She straightened up and rearranged her feet on the floor. She still stumbled along, but her stuttering feet were now hidden within her skirt while his firm hand at her waist kept her upright.

"There you go," he whispered with a smile. He glided with her over the floor, and Bo never felt stronger. She glanced at Jenna and found her laughing along with the stumbling Beetle over in the corner. Bo then looked at the boys from earlier and felt flustered when their attention was fixed solely on her.

"They're looking right at me," she commented excitedly to her partner.

"I told you they would."

Bo giggled loudly when Septimus wrapped both his hands around her waist and lifted her high up with the other couples, except for Jenna and Beetle who still charmingly stumbled along. As her feet landed firmly back on the ground and Septimus took up her hand again, Bo realized she never had such an enchanting dance before.

'It must be because he's a Wizard,' Bo thought dreamily. 'He's so **Magykal**.'

Bo's brain, normally filled completely with boys, was full to bursting as the dance slowed to a majestic stop. Septimus stepped back and bowed to her graciously. He glanced up in time to shoot her a smile before bidding her a quiet farewell and leaving her to the crowd of boys who immediately flocked around her. Beneath their sudden attention, Bo never felt so happy. Surrounded by boys… her dream come true!

Septimus was grinning widely as he made his way towards the nearby pillar, ignoring Sarah's still horrified expression, Marcia and Alther's proud smiles and Silas's catcalls. Just as he was settling down to watch Jenna and Beetle attempt a second dance, he caught sight of a familiar figure lurking in the corner by the large windows. He quickly and quietly made his way towards her.

"Hello, Syrah," he said happily, startling the poor girl from her pensive gaze out onto the Moat. Her unsettled green eyes landed on Septimus, who was now slightly taller than her, and gave him a small smile.

"Good evening, Septimus," she said. "It's a lovely party, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." He paused for one more glance at Beetle's awkward flailing as he nearly crashed into Jenna and turned back to Syrah, laughing. "You look great tonight."

"Oh," Syrah blushed. "Thank you."

She looked flustered and uncomfortable while Septimus remained completely relaxed. The now twenty one year old woman searched for something to say.

"Your dance with the red headed girl was lovely." She smiled at him, though he could detect a twinge of pain beneath it. "You are quite the charmer."

"Bo's incredibly sweet," he replied easily, glancing quickly over to the gaggle of boys surrounding the girl. "She deserves the attention."

"I'd be careful with her, Septimus," Syrah replied seriously. "She could very easily betray your affections."

"Oh, I don't like Bo like that."

Septimus looked startled.

Syrah looked confused.

"Then, why did you dance with her?"

"She looked like she wasn't having a good time. I wanted to cheer her up."

"That's kind of you…" Syrah grew silent and gazed out of the window for a few moments. Septimus, sensing she had more to say, was waiting patiently for her to continue. She turned suddenly to him. "Who _do_ you like?"

Now, it was Septimus's turn to look uncomfortable. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"What's this about, Syrah?" he asked quietly.

She stared at him. "I would have thought it was obvious."

"What was obvious?"

Syrah sighed before lifting her eyes directly to his. "I've grown fond of you, Septimus, fonder than a person should feel about a friend. And I know you feel the same for me, as well."

Septimus blanched. "I did, Syrah."

"'Did?'" she inquired softly, turning just as pale as he.

He nodded slowly. "Back on the Isles of Syren, I did like you. I wanted to be with you and was yearning to tell you so while you were in the Disenchanting Chamber. But when you woke up, you never responded to my advances, and I guess you could say I grew discouraged. Over the past two months, my love has turned to friendship."

"But I just didn't know how to respond," Syrah protested, feeling traces of tears pooling in her eyes. She hastily blinked them away.

Septimus said nothing, only gave her a sad glance, so she asked another question.

"So, you feel nothing for me anymore?"

Septimus paused, and then shook his head. "No, I don't, not like that. Not anymore."

They both grew silent and gazed out of the window pensively together.

"I'm glad I got this off my chest," she said quietly. "Now I won't have to worry about it after I leave."

"You're leaving?"

Syrah nodded grimly. "This is my farewell feast as well as Milo's." She swallowed harshly and violently whipped away her sudden tears. "Even the thought of Julius makes me cry. I can't stay here any longer, Septimus, not with everything reminding me of what I've lost." She raised sad, haunted eyes to him. "I don't know how you had the strength to stand it all on your own for those six months a few years ago."

"I nearly fell apart," he whispered, horrible memories resurfacing to mock him.

"Everything reminded you of what you left behind, right? I remembering seeing you often exiting the Tower through the back entrance and only now know of your true suffering."

Septimus bowed his head, feeling his own buried tears rising to the surface. "Everything in the Wizard Tower back then made me remember Marcia, just as the Palace reminded me of my parents and Jenna." His now pained eyes met hers. "I can see why you would want to leave. If I was given the choice, I think I would have left the Castle back then too."

They shared a brief agonizing smile.

"Syrah," he began again, hesitantly, "I am truly sorry for not returning your feelings. I-"

"Don't worry about it," she replied easily, though anguish still stirred beneath. "You can't help how you feel." She inhaled deeply, shuddering. "I don't know if I'll find another person who likes me though. Everyone sees me as so strange."

"You'll find someone, Syrah. I know it," he responded adamantly. She raised tear filled eyes to him. "You're an intelligent, talented, beautiful woman who's still only in her youth. You have time to heal and make a new life for yourself, a fresh start. Trust me, I did; it can happen."

She gave him a wobbly smile, and he continued, "You'll find someone to love you, as well. That person's just not me."

Syrah nodded firmly, already feeling optimism slip back inside. Now, desperate to change the subject, she hastened on.

"I've been working with Marcellus this past month," she said.

"I heard."

"Well, we're sort of on the verge of a major discovery. You know how he'd researched Time so thoroughly back when he was making his Glass?"

"Yes, of course."

"You see, I just want you to promise me something," Syrah began again, trying a new tactic.

"Of course I will."

"I won't be around when he works out the final kinks. I just want to know you'll help him if he needs it. I'm aware that your ExtraOrdinary Wizard is not fond of him, but I'd like for you to be available in my stead. I'd like to see him complete his work as soon as possible since he's truly been working so hard at it for so long."

Septimus smiled brightly at her. "Of course I will. If I have time and he needs me, I'll be there in a flash."

Syrah returned his smile. "Thank you, Septimus. This means a lot to me."

"I'm just glad to be of help."

Syrah stifled a sudden yawn.

"Well, I must be getting back now." She smiled tiredly. "It's been a long night."

Septimus nodded and bid her farewell as she glided away. He watched the doorway long after she disappeared. His mind haunted him with memories of back when he was as lost as poor Syrah. Buried in the recollections, he didn't notice Marcia approach him with concern.

"Septimus?" she inquired, touching his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He snapped out of it. "Huh?" he asked dazedly.

She looked at him strangely. "I asked if you are alright. You seemed very far away."

"Oh, yes, I'm fine." He smiled at her tiredly, and she noticed his dim, drained eyes.

"You're exhausted. Come now, I think it's time we went home," she told him firmly. "You've had enough excitement for one night, I think."

"Sleep sounds nice."

They approached Milo and bid him a farewell for the evening, promising they'd see him off on his voyage in a few days time. Together, the two slipped out of the Palace, which was still bustling with life, and slowly walked back to the Wizard Tower.

"I could have gotten home on my own, Marcia," Septimus protested. "You should stay if you want to."

But Marcia just shook her head. "I'm beginning to feel tired as well. Besides, you know the rule about an Apprentice having to stick by their tutor's side wherever they go?"

"Yes."

"Well, it works both ways."

Septimus felt a large smile, the biggest one he gave all night, bloom to life on his face. In the flickering lights of the torches lining the way, he directed it towards Marcia and saw her return the gesture immediately.

That night, Septimus was hounded by nightmares. He tossed and turned in his bed sweating and crying out, causing Marcia to jump out of her own bed in alarm multiple times and go check on him. Each time, she would cast soothing spells over him in a desperate attempt to ease his pain without actually waking him up.

Neither Septimus nor Marcia slept well that night; in the torturous recesses of Septimus's mind, Marcellus was dragging him through the Glass once again and ripping him away from all the happiness he'd ever known.

* * *

><p><strong>Erm, consider his dream an omen of what's to come. Septimus's nightmares won't come into play until later... And yes, I know Beetle got over his "crush" on Jenna in <em>Darke<em>. But while I think he wouldn't try to push for her attention to her face, he probably still has some stirrings of longing. With Sep egging him on here, I think he'd be brave enough to ask for a dance on a feast night like this and still feel enough for her to be nervous and to enjoy it... But anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed! This has got to be the first chapter I'm quite satisfied with... I hope the rest of you agree. Now, please leave a review, kind readers. You know, I don't like to bribe, but I must say (and this goes for the rest of the story) I can get very encouraged if I get a lot of feedback, positive or negative. I know there isnt much going on right now, but later, when the tension is high, just keep that in mind. *hint hint* But, wow, I feel sleazy for the dirty dealing, now... And now to go watch the final episode of Sherlock Series 2. Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna need a tissue box?**


	6. Trader's Market

**Ah, I'm so, so sorry for the late update! With midterms and everything, I've been pretty busy. I only just remembered this fic during my studyhall when I was thinking about a speech I have in English in a few days. Believe me, I almost had a heart attack... but anyway, I'm here now, so there's that, I guess. This is the shortest chapter so far, which is kind of like a second slap in my face. I promise to update quickly! My mind just been consumed by school and Skyrim. Oops...**

**Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN! ...get it?**

After a night ravaged with haunting memories, Septimus wearily cracked his eyes open to meet the morning light. His throat was still raw from his cries and his eyelids ached from the tears he apparently shed in his slumber. Blearily rubbing the sleep away, he sat up and glanced around. He caught sight of Marcia sleeping fitfully in a chair hastily drawn up to his bed. The purple shadows that had blossomed beneath her eyes a month ago had become even darker than normal.

Septimus grimaced. His nightmares hadn't been as bad as they usually were, though this was the first time he had ever kept Marcia awake, as far as he could remember. It appeared that she'd stayed awake and used her **Magyk** to keep his personal demons at bay. Sacrificing her rest for his, she'd worn herself to the bone if the deep frown marring her forehead meant anything. Another pang of guilt stabbed brutally at him.

Getting up from his bed as quietly as he could, he crept over to her and laid his blanket across her lap. He placed his palm in front of her forehead and muttered a rejuvenating incantation she had taught him a few months back. She visibly relaxed as he murmured quietly under his breath. Her forehead smoothed out and the harsh line of her mouth softened until Septimus could hear deep, even breathing.

Leaving her to her deserved rest, Septimus took his clothing into the bathroom to change. It would be horrific if Marcia had woken up while he dressed in his room; just the thought of it made Septimus's face heat up. Looking into the mirror, he decided he didn't look much better than her. His green eyes were bloodshot and cloudy. There was purple beneath his eyes as well, though considerably lighter than hers. While he'd suffered in sleep, Marcia suffered while conscious.

Hastening downstairs, Septimus set the cooking appliances to work. They liked Septimus more than they did Marcia, seeing as he was always patient and forgiving of their mistakes whereas Marcia would shout herself hoarse. As the coffee pot got to work and the pans and stove worked together to rustle up some eggs, Septimus squeezed himself some orange juice and tried to tackle the newest complication of the day.

Marcia had hardly gotten any sleep at all; that was easy enough to tell at first glance. Feeling guilty once more, Septimus decided that he would firmly insist he take over most of her errands that day regardless of her protests. Sure, she had recently given him the job of taking care of the deteriorating house on Cutpurse Cut, but that had just been one of her morning jobs. There were plenty of other objectives she had in the evening, after Septimus's afternoon lessons. There were committee meetings and all kinds of tiny problems all over the Castle that needed to seen to before she retired to her rooms to work on the **Darkenesse** problem.

She had been cutting back on her sleep anyway, pushing it more and more each night. Sometimes Septimus would be awakened in the early hours of the morning by the sound of her python shoes clacking against the floor as she paced. Fending off Septimus's nightmare last night had probably set her back even more.

Deciding to be firm with his decision, Septimus checked up on the eggs sizzling quietly in the pan, all the while mentally prepping for the busy day ahead. But first he would have to convince Marcia to get some rest; that would be the most difficult problem of them all.

Marcia eventually forced herself to awaken when the sunlight shifted from Septimus's pillows to her closed eyes. Muffling a groan, she wearily shifted in the wooden chair she'd taken from Septimus's desk the night before. Suddenly, her memory of last night came back to her with a burning clarity and she wrenched her eyes open. Stifling yet another groan, this time in direct response to the light, she shielded her sensitive eyes from the glare and gazed at the empty bed in front of her.

Automatically making a mental note to remind Septimus to make his bed, she leaned forward, resting her head in her hands with a weary sigh. She felt something slip off her lap with the movement and opened her surprised eyes to the sight of a deep green blanket rumpled around her feet. She reached down, picked up Septimus's blanket, and smiled, despite her drooping eyes.

The stress of her current situation was really gnawing at her. When confronted outright with a problem, Marcia could deal with it. But if the problem was being stubborn and evading her, she tended to grow anxious and jumpy. She needed something to confront, in this case that being the straggling traces of **Darkenesse** in the Castle, and without her facing it head on, she tended to get snappy, _very_ snappy much to Septimus's displeasure.

Marcia felt another smile curl her lips. No one knew better with how to deal with her snappiness and dissipate it than her beloved Apprentice.

Feeling a bit flustered, she heaved her weary body quickly to her feet in a burst of energy. Typically, if she'd been awake all night, there would have been more pain and discomfort; she had grown accustomed to that over the past few weeks. Strangely, though, she wasn't as dead on her feet as she expected herself to be.

'Probably Septimus's doing,' she mused fondly, glad her wasn't around to see her get all sappy. She tossed the blanket onto Septimus's bed and stretched, working out the knots in her muscles from the awkward chair.

Descending slowly down the stairs after getting dressed and made up for the day, Marcia smelled the welcome scent of cooked eggs and coffee. She strolled into the kitchen, masking her exhaustion, but she knew from the moment they made eye contact from across the room that Septimus could see right through her.

"Good morning, Septimus," she greeted as cheerily as she could. Her first sip of her cup of fresh coffee, which tasted remarkably good that morning, was not nearly as helpful with rousing her as she'd hoped.

"Morning, Marcia." Septimus paused and assessed her silently. "How are you feeling?"

Marcia shot him a questioning glance. "I'm fine."

He gave her a small, sad smile, as though he already knew she wasn't before he asked. Marcia shifted from one foot to the other and took another sip of her drink.

"Well, thank you for last night anyway," Septimus continued. "It would have been much worse if you hadn't helped."

"Think nothing of it, Septimus," she replied warmly, finally picking up her plate of eggs and settling down across the table from him. She took her first bite and was surprised yet again. In addition to her coffee being particularly good, even the eggs were twice as tasty. How on earth had he managed to do it?

"You must be exhausted, though," he prodded.

"Only a little bit," she replied, though she felt like dropping her head into her eggs even then. "You mustn't worry about me."

Septimus wasn't convinced. He bit his lip and said, "But I do anyway. With all the problems you've been juggling, last night probably finished you off!"

Marcia frowned. "It is part of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's duty to deal with threats to the safety of the Castle. I'm only doing what I must; it's all part of the job, Septimus."

"But you're still a human being," he protested. "Let me take over for you, just for today. If you want, you can reschedule some of the more difficult things for you to get back to later, but you still need a day off. You always give them to me if I need them, so why can't you take one occasionally as well?"

"But, Septimus, this is a big responsibility. Are you sure you can handle it? You are only fourteen, after all." What Marcia didn't want to admit was that it was actually a good idea. Her fatigue would only hinder her performance anyway. And, what with Septimus basically winning the argument with no trouble at all, she could tell she wasn't at her sharpest that morning anyway. Besides, it would be the perfect test to see how he handled the job; she had to consider successors, after all, though it was still much too early to think about that seriously.

"I think I've proven you can trust me with the last errand you sent me on."

"Yes, indeed, you did."

"So…?"

Marcia heaved a resigned sigh. "Alright, I'll take the day off."

Septimus beamed at her. "Thank you, Marcia."

"What an odd thing to say to something like that," she mused as she finished off her eggs. Glancing at her watch, she filled her Apprentice in on all she would have needed to get done that day. She made sure it was quick, for she wasn't certain how much longer she could keep her head up. A day of rest would truly be helpful to her right now.

"Now, forget about your normal chores; I think the Library can go at least one day without tidying, yes? First, I want you to head out to the Trader's Market and inspect the stalls for anything we can use to craft Jenna's replacement crown. I know you can tell which metals have a high **Magykal** potential and then make a decision in accordance with the list I've been putting together; I trust your judgment with this, Septimus. Next, I need you to pick up some food to restock the kitchen. There is money in the jar on top of the cabinet in the sitting room. Don't forget to pick it up. And don't forget to stop to eat lunch. Lastly, you have a grueling meeting with one of the safety committees in the late afternoon. It's a smaller, less important one, mind you, but they still need to speak with me. I'll reschedule the appointments with the major committees to a later date. Understood?"

"Yep."

"Good; now off you go. I don't want you to be late. And I expect you back before dinner."

With a warm smile, Septimus set down his now empty glass of juice and raced for the door. Marcia couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. She only made it to the sitting room before collapsing onto her sofa next to the hibernating jinnee and Jillie Djinn's ghost with a groan and, forgetting propriety, immediately falling asleep.

While Septimus was cheerily making his way to the Trader's Market, Merrin Meredith was heading in the same direction, but with a scowl. He was trudging back from his early morning visit to Gothyk Grotto for his boots. He assumed it would all go smoothly, but viciously scolded himself for that now. When he put one foot through the front doorway, Igor charged at him with a cobweb covered broom, swatting at him vehemently and screeching, "How dare you show your face around here, Merrin Meredith?"

As he had staggered out onto the street, Merrin heard, through Igor's foaming mouth, the Charm that he'd left as payment was gone.

"You stole it back," Igor spit, glaring furiously. "You decided you just didn't want the shoes, anymore, after all, eh? But we had a deal, Merrin! I never want to see you in my shop ever again."

"Or you'll do what?" Merrin challenged, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. Igor's rage reminded him eerily of DomDaniel's temper tantrums.

"Or I'll tell Madam Overstrand that you're back in the Castle, store policy or not!"

Merrin paled. "You wouldn't."

"Believe me I would. Now, get out of here, you stupid kid!"

And so, Merrin had scurried off like the rat he was. Still in need of a new pair of boots, he decided to head to the Trader's Market to look there, muttering the whole way about how he was _not _stupid, no not _at all_.

* * *

><p>The Trader's Market was strangely empty that morning, probably because the sun had just risen. The Traders had only just finished restocking their products. Marcia had concluded that it was best to find the metal then, before everything was picked over by the public and the idle rich who constantly had a bit of money to spare.<p>

Septimus strolled slowly through the jumble of wooden stalls. Each one was maintained by a different Trader, the counters bursting with exotic objects from all around as their shopkeepers shouted out bargains and prices in accented tongues. Septimus veered away from a shady looking stall with a hooded Trader gazing unwaveringly at him, and hastened to a stall a few spaces down that boasted colorful metals.

Keeping one eye on the hooded Trader, Septimus looked over the raw metals on the counter with a critical eye. They were all different shades and shapes. Some of them shimmered in the dim morning sunlight while others were solid and dull. A couple of them even had a kind of haze around them that confused the eyes, as though the metals were not all in this world.

Mentally running through Marcia's list of materials she recommended, Septimus raked his eyes over each and every one, making his own separate opinions about their **Magykal** capacity, durability and whatnot. The Metal Trader kept a close eye on him, but mercifully didn't move to pester him with deals like the other shopkeepers. After a few more minutes of scrutiny, he approached Septimus.

"See anything you like, boy?" he asked gruffly, with a deep accent. It took Septimus a moment to piece together what he said.

"Oh, yes, I believe so."

There was one metal that particularly caught Septimus's eye. It was silver one that Marcellus had taught him about back when he was an Alchemie Apprentice. They were somewhat common back in that Time, but were being rapidly used up seeing as they were very powerful metals, perfect for high level Charms. At the present time, they were so rare that they were not even recorded in books and nobody knew how to recognize them. That was probably why they were not on Marcia's list. The Trader obviously hadn't recognized its worth either, believing it to be common silver, and had priced its worth accordingly.

"Well?" the Metal Trader demanded after Septimus hadn't placed his request. "Which one do you want?"

Briefly wondering if he should consult Marcia first, Septimus hesitated. Then, he remembered her words from that morning: "I trust your judgment with this, Septimus."

"That one," he answered, pointing with his right hand. His Dragon Ring glimmered on his finger and the hooded Trader from a few quiet stalls down noticed it. The shady man licked his lips, and stared hungrily at it. As the Metal Trader was wrapping Septimus's purchase in strong brown paper, Septimus noticed the stare and discreetly observed the man in return.

Another hooded figure approached him and the shady Trader reluctantly tore his eyes away from Septimus's ring towards his customer. This newcomer was shrouded in an equally dark cloak, but was considerably smaller, around Septimus's size. He appeared to be staring avidly at a spell book on the counter. The hooded Trader addressed him in quick whispers which the customer responded to in an equally quiet voice, leaving the interested Septimus at a loss at what they were saying.

Marcia's scolding voice, telling him that he should never eavesdrop, _ever_, came to Septimus's mind with a jolt, causing his face to turn a guilty red. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away, he focused sheepishly on the Trader impatiently awaiting payment.

"Send this to the Wizard Tower," Septimus said when the Trader gave an irritable click of his tongue. "It's for the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, Marcia Overstrand."

The Trader, new to the strange country, wasn't impressed and had no idea who the ExtraOrdinary Wizard supposed she was. However, she did sound pretty rich, and so he hid his greedy expression beneath a calm façade, nodding absently and setting the bundle aside to send later. Septimus, however, could see through to the greed and sighed heavily. What would he give to be dealing business with that polite Charm Trader from the other day instead?

Angry shouts erupted from nearby. Septimus whipped his head towards the commotion and automatically made his way towards it while all of the other spectators around him kept their distance.

"Stop that thief!" a Jewelry Trader spluttered, pointing frantically towards the hooded young figure from before. He was darting away in Septimus's direction and keeping his hands close to protect his stolen goods. The Jewelry Trader was appalled when no one even attempted to grab the thief.

Septimus saw the young figure's error of charging through the crowds instead of darting around them, which would have been the safer option. Taking advantage of the figure's folly, he stepped casually to one side as if to let him pass, but slyly extended his foot at the last moment. The thief stumbled in his haste and crashed inelegantly to the ground. Septimus was immediately on him, pinning the slithering body to the ground at key points in the culprit's arms and legs. His Army training came back to him immediately, as if he was still Expendable Boy 412.

Wrenching the jewels from the young man's sweaty palms, Septimus saw the hood fall back in the commotion and froze. His victim stopped moving as he registered who had pinned him. Just as quickly, both of their surprised eyes turned cold. Bright green and black-green clashed.

It was Merrin Meredith.

* * *

><p><strong>Meh, I think I was too wordy with this one... But I just had to end it there. Plus, stress has been making my muse and writing flow all wacky, so I apologize for that. The action will be starting soon, I warn you now, though I will continue to go nice and smooth (at least to the best of my ability). I hope nobody is bothered by my pace.<strong>

**But anyway, a big thanks to my reviewers and those who favorited/alerted. You're all wizard! (see, I learned old British slang in my English class! If you've ever read _Lord of the Flies_, you'll know what I'm talking about. For those who haven't... just know I'm not insulting you. :D)**


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